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ANECDOTES 


GIRLS. 


■  NTEBTAININO  NABRATIVE8  AND  ANECDOTBi 
ILLUSTRATIVE  OF  PtaNCIPLES  AND   CHARACTEB. 


HARVEY    NEWCOMB, 
aOTHOK  or  "how  to  bi  a  i-abt,"     "how  to  bb  a  man,"  ro. 


ELEVEXTH   THOUSAND. 


BOSTON: 
GOULD   AND   LINCOLN 

NEW  YORK :   SHELDON    AND    COMPANY. 

CTNCINNATI :  GEO.  S.  BLANCUARD. 

I860. 


KtttMed  according  to  Act  of  Congreu,  in  the  year  IMT, 

BT    GoDLO,   KSKDALL    AlTD    LlVCOLIT, 

b  Am  CUrlt*!  Odce  of  tlie  Diitrict  Conrt  of  the  Diatrlct  of  MwiaehiuwMa 


PREFACE 


Ir  was  my  intention  to  illustrate  the  several 
topics  noticed  in  my  two  last  works  for  Boys  and 
Girls,  with  entertaining  and  instructive  anecdotes ; 
but  I  found  the  matter  increasing  on  my  hands 
so  much,  that  I  was  obliged  to  abandon  this 
purpose.  Those  works  have  met  with  so  much 
favor,  that  1  have  been  encouraged  to  carry  out 
this  design  in  separate  volumes.  In  these  works, 
I  have  had  the  same  general  object  in  view  as 
in  the  former,  namely,  the  early  formation  of 
character.  But  I  have  not  confined  myself  to 
the  same  topics ;  and  the  matter  of  these  two 
books,  unlike  the  former,  is  entirely  different,  no 
anecdote  being  introduced  into  one,  which  is 
contained  in  the  other. 

This  book  is  not  a  mere  collection  of  stories, 
for  the  amusement  of  juvenile  readers.      Such, 


6  PREFACE. 

and  such  only,  have  been  selected  as  could  be 
made  to  convey  some  useful  instruction  to  the 
mind,  or  produce  some  good  impression  upon  the 
heart.  They  have  been  collected  from  a  great 
variety  of  sources,  some  new  and  some  old ;  but 
in  nearly  every  case  entirely  re-written,  and  such 
reflections  added  as  have  seemed  necessary,  to 
impress  upon  the  mind  of  the  reader  the  lessons 
which  they  teach.  It  is  probable  that  some  of 
the  anecdotes  may  be  already  familiar.  K  so, 
they  are  here  presented  in  a  new  dress,  and 
made  to  serve  a  new  purpose  ;  so  that  they  will 
bear  another  reading.  It  is  believed,  however, 
that  most  of  them  will  be  new  to  those  into 
whose  hands  they  may  fall ;  and  the  author  hopes 
that  they  may  prove  both  entertaining  and  useful 
to  a  dlass  of  young  people,  whose  happiness  and 
future  usefulness  he  sincerely  desires  to  promote 

Grantville,  Mass.,  Sept.  1847. 


CONTENTS. 


I.  Eablt  Piett. — Advantages  of — a  little  girl'i 
experience, 9 

n.  Filial  Piett.— The  faithful  daughter  —  filial 
piety  rewarded — Ladj  Lucy's  petition, 15 

in.  SiSTERLT  Affection.  —  The  Miss  Singers — a 
generous  sister  —  the  praying  sisters  —  be  kind 
to  your  sister  —  love  to  brothers  —  a  loving 
sister, 28 

IV.  Benevolence.  —  A  bountiful  return  —  a  lesson 
from  the  birds  —  an  angel  of  mercy, •  •  -45 

V  Learning  to  Work.  —  New  music  —  making 
bread  —  Mrs.  Milne  —  high  notions, 51 

VL  Habits.  —  Heedlessness  —  be  neat  —  carelessness 
—  reading  in  the  night — drinking  wine  —  put- 
ting pins  in  the  mouth  —  dress.  Dr.  Johnson's 
opinion  —  fondness  for  dress  —  eyes  and  no 
eyes, 60 

Vll  Government  op  the  Tongue.  —  The  washer- 
woman —  Jenny  Jenkins — whisperers, 84 


Vlll  CONTENTS. 

VUI.  Female  Influence. —  Swearing  in  Hebrew — 

the  sea  captain  —  doing  good, 91 

IX.  Novels  and  Plays. — Dr.  Johnson's  opinion 
of  novels  —  novels  and  plays  —  folly  of  ro- 
mance,    98 

X     Dancing.  —  Examples  of  warning  —  a  contrast 

— death  in  a  ball-room, 102 

XL    Miscellaneous  Subjects.  —  Honesty  reward 
ed  —  temper    and    teazing  —  advantages  of 
committing  to  memory  Scripture,  Hymns,  &c.  112 

Xli.   Religion.  —  Doing  good  —  the  swearer  reproved 

—  the  pearl  of  great  price — Lady  Huntington 
and  the  gardener — faith  —  a  little  girl  and 
her  father  —  a  little  girl's  application  of  Scrip- 
tnre — cherish  serious  impressions — danger  of 
resisting  the  Holy  Spirit  —  the  choice,  a  con- 
trast —  conscience  — prayer  —  praying  in  secret 

—  pray  without  ceasing  —  death-bed  scenes— 
the  unprepared  —  peace  in  death, 1 85 


ANECDOTES  FOR  GIRLS. 


CHAPTER  L  -^ 

EARLY   PIETY.  ' 

ET  no  light'-hearted  girl  throw 
down  this  book  because  it  begins 
jwith  a  grave  subject.  There  is 
*  nothing  in  it  which  interferes 
^with  any  proper  youthful  enjoy- 
ment. I  am  sorry  that  any  oije 
should  think  religion  tends  to 
destroy  the  happiness  of  chil- 
dren and  youth.  This  is  not  true. 
It  does,  indeed,  forbid  all  sinful  in- 
dulgence ;  but  at  the  same  time  it 
removes  the  desire  for  it ;  and  it  in- 
troduces them  to  pleasures  of  a  more 
exalted  kind.  Let  no  one  say,  "  I  will 
have  my  pleasure  now,  and  attend  to 
religion  when  I  am  a  woman."  Per- 
haps you  will  not  live  to  be  a  woman.  But, 
if  you  should,  you  want  religion  now,  to  lay  the 


10  FUKfcPT   THE   SPRING. 

foundation  of  a  good  character.  When  the 
prophet  Elisha  was  living  at  Jericho,  some  of  the 
people  came  to  him,  and  told  him  that  the  water 
was  very  had.  Now,  the  city  of  Jericho  was 
supplied  with  water  from  a  spring,  which  was 
conducted  to  the  city,  I  suppose,  in  an  aqueduct 
of  some  kind.  And  what  did  the  prophet  do  ? 
He  did  not  go  to  the  streams,  which  conveyed  the 
water  to  different  parts  of  the  city,  to  see  if  ho 
could  purify  them ;  but  he  went  and  cast  salt 
into  the  spring,  and  the  water  was  made  good. 
This  is  what  you  must  do :  c^t  salt  into  the 
spring,  that  the  stream  of  life  may  run  pure. 
You  want  your  heart  purified  by  the  influence  of 
true  piety,  in  order  that  your  character  may  be 
formed  upon  the  true  model. 

Neither  let  any  one  think,  that  there  is  greater 
difficulty  in  becoming  a  Christian  in  childhood, 
than  there  is  at  a  later  period  of  life.  There  is 
much  less.  K  any  one  wanted  a  tree  in  front  of 
his  house,  would  he  go  and  dig  up  and  transplant 
a  great  tree,  with  a  tall,  heavy  trunk,  wide- 
spreading  branches,  and  great  roots  running  deep 
into  the  ground  ?  He  might  possibly  do  it ;  but 
it  would  be  a  work  of  great  difficulty,  and  the 
tree  would  not  be  very  likely  to  live.  He  would 
rather  choose  a  young  tree,  which  would  be  easily 
and   safely  transplanted.     In  like  manner,  the 


AN    OLD    lady's    OPINIOK.  11 

difficulty  of  becoming  religious  increases  as  one 
grows  older. 

A  woman  of  ninety  lay  on  her  death-bed,  who 
had  been  a  disciple  of  Christ  for  half  a  century. 
Conversing  with  a  friend,  she  said,  "  Tell  all  the 
children  that  an  old  woman,  who  is  just  on  the 
borders  of  eternity,  is  very  much  grieved  that  she 
did  not  begin  to  love  the  Saviour  when  she  was 
a  child.  Tell  them  youth  is  the  time  to  serve 
the  Lord." 

Neither  let  any  one  get  the  impression,  that  all 
pious  children  die  when  they  are  young.  Most 
of  the  children's  memoirs  that  have  been  written 
are  necessarily  accounts  of  those  who  died  young. 
But  thousands  of  children  have  died  whose  me- 
moirs have  not  been  written ;  and  a  great  many 
die  without  giving  any  evidence  of  piety,  which 
is  a  much  greater  cause  of  alarm  to  you,  than 
that  some  pious  children  die.  But  children  are 
no  more  likely  to  die  because  they  are  pious. 
Many,  who  have  become  pious  in  childhood,  have 
lived  to  a  very  great  age.  Phebe  Bartlett,  of 
whose  early  piety  a  most  delightful  account  was 
given  by  President  Edwards,  lived  to  be  seventy- 
four  years  of  age.  Indeed,  the  tendency  of  true 
piety  is  to  promote  health  and  long  life. 


if  BEMEMBER  THE   TEXT. 


A  Little  GirTs  Religious  Experience. 

•  The  following  sweet  and  simple  expression  of 
early  piety  was  presented  to  the  church  in  Strat- 
ham,  N.  H.  nearly  forty  years  ago,  by  a  little 
girl  about  eleven  years  of  age,  who  lived  many 
years  to  adorn  the  profession  which  she  then 
made,  by  an  exemplary  piety  and  Christian  con- 
versation. 

"  My  dear  and  honored  parents  had  often  told 
me,  when  I  was  preparing  to  go  to  meeting, 
that  I  ought  to  attend  to  the  religious  exercises, 
and  at  least  to  renaember  the  text.  On  the 
Lord's  day,  last  summer,  as  I  was  going  to  meet- 
ing, I  recollected  my  mother's  advice,  and  had  a 
great  desire,  and  some  strong  resolutions,  to  at- 
tend, and  at  least  to  carry  the  text  home  with 
me ;  but  I  think  I  shall  never  forget  it.  These 
solemn  words,  "How  shall  we  escape,  if  we 
neglect  so  great  salvation  ?  "  seem  to  be  imprinted 
on  my  heart,  and  wUl  not,  I  trust,  be  soon  blotted 
out  of  my  memory.  I  think  I  felt  the  truth  of 
every  word  that  was  said  in  the  sermon.  I  am 
sure  I  saw  that  the  salvation  of  Jesus  is  a  great 
salvation,  and  that  it  was  very  wicked  to  neglect 
it,  and  as  dangerous  as  it  was  wicked.  And  I 
was  very  sensible,  that,  though  I  was  a  young 
sinner,  I  needed  that  great  salvation,  as  really  as 


CONVICTION.  13 

the  oldest  sinner  in  the  meeting-house.  I  was 
very  sure  I  had  wickedly  neglected  it.  Return- 
ing home,  I  could  not  help  thinking  of  the  text 
and  sermon.  Nor  could  I  help  reproaching  my- 
self for  my  wicked  neglect  of  Jesus  and  his  great 
salvation. 

"  After  this,  I  attended  lectures  whenever  I 
could,  and  thought  all  the  awful  and  solemn 
warnings  of  the  word  of  God  were  directed  to 
me,  as  really  as  if  I  had  been  named.  I  heard 
those  alarming  words,  "  Depart,  ye  cursed,  into 
everlasting  fire,  prepared  for  the  devil  and  his 
angels."  And  this  awful  sentence  I  believed 
would  be  directed  against  all  who  lived  in  sin, 
and  died  destitute  of  love  to  God  and  the  Lord 
Jesus  Christ.  I  found  I  had  no  love  to  Grod,  no 
love  to  Jesus ;  and  was  certain,  that  if  I  lived  and 
died  so,  God  would  say  to  me,  "  Depart."  The 
thought  distressed  me.  I  could  not  bear  to  think 
of  being  banished  from  God.  I  wanted  to  know 
and  love  God.  I  asked  for  mercy.  My  heart, 
I  saw,  was  wicked,  and  must  be  changed,  or  God 
could  not  love  me.  I  found  I  could  not  change 
it  myself,  and  I  tried  to  pray  that  God  would  re- 
new my  hard  and  sinful  heart.  I  saw,  too,  that 
I  could  not  merit  his  favor,  that  my  prayers 
could  not  help  me,  nor  oblige  the  Lord  to  save 
me.  I  found  myself  altogether  helpless,  and 
lying  at  the  mercy  of  Grod.    And,  for  ever  blessed 


14  CHEIST  PRECIOUS. 

be  his  name,  he  led  me  to  trust  in  his  mercy,  in 
the  Lord  Jesus  Christ.  I  had,  I  think,  some 
clear  views  of  Jesus,  as  the  Saviour,  who  alone 
ean  save  a  sinner  so  unworthy  as  I  saw  myself 
to  be.  I  think  I  enjoy  a  measure  of  the  peace 
and  comfort  which  flow  from  a  reliance  on  his 
glorious  grace  alone.  And,  though  I  have  had 
many  doubts  and  fears,  I  have  also  many  sweet 
and  refreshing  seasons. 

"  And  now,  Jesus  Christ  is  so  precious  to  my 
soul,  his  religion  is  so  refreshing  to  my  mind, 
and  his  ordinances  are  so  lovely  in  my  view,  that 
I  wish  and  long  to  enjoy  access  to  them.  I  can- 
not but  anxiously  desire  to  give  myself  up  to 
God,  and  to  his  church,  in  the  bonds  of  his  own 
everlasting  covenant.  And  now,  while  I  ask 
your  charity,  I  also  beg  your  prayers  to  God, 
that  he  would  own  me  as  a  child  of  his,  in  that 
day  when  he  will  make  up  his  jewels." 

You  will  perceive,  from  this  narrative,  that  re- 
ligion is  not  gloomy  and  repulsive.  It  fits  the 
mind  for  true  enjoyment.  It  gives  a  person  the 
only  true  ground  of  cheerfulness,  which  is,  a 
mind  at  peace  with  God.  When  embraced  in 
childhood,  it  lays  the  foundation  of  character 
upon  a  solid  basis.  It  gives  it  stability,  by  fixing 
in  the  heart  true  principles  of  action,  and  giving 
a  love  for  what  is  right,  and  a  dislike  for  what  is 
wrong. 


15 


CHAPTER  n. 


FILIAL    PIETY. 


Y  readers  will  perceive  why  I 
have  chosen  this  for  my  next 
subject ;  because  piety  towards 
parents   is   the  next  thing  to 
piety  towards  God.     Indeed,  it 
is  one  of  its  first  fruits.     And  I 
o  can  hardly  think  it  possible  that 
a  child  can  be   pious  towards 
God,  and  irreverent  and  disobedient 
towards   her   parents ;   for  parents 
stand,  in  an  important  sense,  to  chil- 
dren, in  the  place  of  God.     He  has 
committed  you  to  their  care,  to  bring 
up  for  him.     The  following   examples 
"^    furnish   some    forcible   illustrations   of 
the  subject  of  filial  piefy. 


7%e  Faithful  Daughter. 


During  the  French  Revolution,  M.  DeUeglaie, 
who  had  been  confined  in  prison  at  Lyons,  was 


16  DUTIFUL   DAUGHTERS. 

ordered  to  Paris.  His  daughter  begged  to  be 
allowed  to  ride  with  him,  but  was  refused. 
Though  of  very  delicate  health,  she  followed  him 
on  foot,  a  distance  of  more  than  three  hundred 
miles,  preparing  him  food,  and  providing  cover- 
ing for  him,  in  the  dungeons  where  he  was  con- 
fined at  night.  At  Paris,  for  three  months,  she 
presented  herself  before  the  authorities,  in  his 
behalf,  till,  at  length,  she  prevailed,  and  procured 
his  release.  She  conducted  him  back  to  Lyons. 
But  the  effort  was  too  much  for  her ;  and  having 
gained  her  object,  and  saved  the  life  of  her  father, 
she  lost  her  own. 


Filial  Piety  Rewarded. 

A  female  servant  in  London,  in  her  early  life, 
spent  all  her  wages  in  the  support  of  her  aged 
and  distressed  parents.  She  was  afterwards 
taken  iU  ;  and  the  Rev.  Thomas  Scott,  tp  whose 
congregation  she  belonged,  with  the  aid  of  kind 
friends,  supported  her  for  many  years,  by  which 
she  was  saved  from  going  to  the  workhouse. 
Thus  was  she  rewarded  for  her  dutiful  conduct 
towards  her  parents. 


LADY   LUCT'S    petition.  17 


Lady  Lucifs  Petition. 

The  following  touching  narrative  of  a  histori- 
cal fact  contains  such  a  beautiful  illustration  of 
filial  piety  as  to  need  no  comment.  "When  I 
commenced  this  book,  one  of  my  children,  on 
learning  my  intention,  inquired,  "  Father,  are 
you  going  to  make  comments  on  your  anecdotes, 
or  have  them  to  tell  their  own  story  ?'*  In  regard 
to  this  one,  I  shall  leave  it  to  tell  its  oton  story. 

James  II.,  King  of  England,  was  a  great 
tyrant.  He  disregarded  the  constitution  and 
laws  of  England,  and  undertook  to  exercise  ar- 
bitrary and  absolute  power.  Among  other  ty- 
rannical and  oppressive  measures,  he  undertook 
to  restore  Popery,  as  the  established  religion. 
The  people  of  England  could  not  bear  these 
things  ;  and  they  entered  into  a  negotiation  with 
"William,  Prince  of  Orange,  who  had  married 
the  king's  daughter  Mary,  to  come  over  from 
Holland  with  an  army,  when  they  all  joined  him, 
and  King  James  was  obliged  to  leave  the  coun- 
try ;  after  which,  the  Parliament  raised  "William 
and  Mary  to  the  throne.  James  and  his  friends 
made  several  ineffectual  attempts  to  recover  his 
crown.  In  one  of  these  attempts,  Lord  Preston 
was  engaged  ;  and,  being  taken,  was  condemned 
2* 


W  LADY  Lucy's  petition. 

to  die.  His  little  daughter,  Lucy,  was  taken  by 
her  nurse.  Amy  Gradwell,  to  visit  her  father,  in 
the  Tower,  before  his  execution.  As  the  coach 
drove  up  before  the  prison.  Lady  Lucy  raised 
her  eyes  fearfully  to  the  Tower,  and  exclaimed, 
"  And  is  my  dear  papa  shut  up  in  this  dismal 
place,  to  which  you  are  taking  me,  nurse?" 
When  they  alighted,  and  she  saw  the  soldiers  on 
guard,  and  the  sentinels  before  the  prison,  she 
trembled  and  hid  her  face  in  Amy's  cloak.  "  Yes, 
my  dear  child,"  replied  her  nurse,  "my  lord, 
your  father,  is  indeed  within  these  sad  walls. 
You  are  now  going  to  visit  him.  Are  you  afraid 
to  enter  this  place,  my  dear  ?  "  "  No,"  replied 
Lady  Lucy,  resolutely,  "  I  am  not  afraid  of  going 
to  any  place  where  my  dear  papa  is."  Yet  she 
clung  closer  to  the  arm  of  her  attendant,  as  she 
entered  the  gloomy  precincts  of  the  building,  and 
her  little  heart  fluttered  fearfully,  as  she  glanced 
around  her;  and  she  whispered  to  her  nurse, 
"  Was  it  not  here  that  the  two  young  princes, 
Edward  V.,  and  his  brother  Richard,  Duke  of 
York,  were  murdered  by  their  cruel  uncle, 
Richard,  Duke  of  Gloucester  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  love,  it  was  ;  but  do  not  be  alarmed 
on  that  account,  for  no  one  will  harm  you,"  said 
An"  y,  in  an  encouraging  tone.  "  And  waa  not 
good  Henry  VI.  murdered,  also,  by  the  same 


LADl    LUCT's    petition.  19 

wicked  Richard  ?  "  continued  the  little  girl,  whose 
imagination  had  been  fiUed  with  the  deeds  of 
blood  that  had  been  perpetrated  in  this  fatally- 
celebrated  place ;  many  of  which  had  been  re- 
lated to  her  by  Bridget,  the  housekeeper,  since 
her  father  had  been  imprisoned  in  the  Tower  on 
the  charge  of  high  treason. 

"But  do  you  think  they  will  murder  papa, 
nurse  ?  "  "  Hush !  hush  !  dear  child,  you  must 
not  talk  these  things  here,"  said  Amy,  "  or  they 
will  shut  us  both  up  in  a  room  with  bolts  and 
bars,  instead  of  admitting  us  to  see  my  lord,  your 
father." 

Lady  Lucy  pressed  closer  to  her  nurse's  side, 
and  was  silent,  till  they  were  ushered  into  the 
room  where  her  father  was  confined ;  when,  for- 
getting every  thing  else  in  the  joy  of  seeing  him 
again,  she  sprang  into  his  arms,  and  almost 
stifled  him  with  her  kisses.  Lord  Preston  was 
greatly  affected  at  the  sight  of  his  little  daughter  ; 
and,  overcome  by  her  passionate  expressions 
of  fondness  ;  his  own  anguish  at  the  thought  of 
being  separated  from  her  by  death ;  and  the  idea 
of  leaving  her  an  orphan  at  the  tender  age  of 
nine  years  ;  he  clasped  her  to  his  bosom,  and  be- 
dewed her  face  with  his  tears.  "  Why  do  you 
cry,  dear  papa  ?  "  asked  Lucy,  who  was  herself 
weeping  at  the  sight  of  his  distress.     "  And  why 


20  LADY   LUCT'S    petition. 

do  you  not  leave  this  gloomy  place,  and  come 
home  to  your  own  hall  agam  ?  " 

"  Attend  to  me,  Lucy,"  said  her  father,  "  and 
I  will  tell  you  the  cause  of  my  grief:  I  shall 
never  come  home  again,  for  I  have  been  con- 
demned to  die  for  high  treason  ;  and  I  shall  not 
leave  this  place,  till  they  bring  me  forth  to  Tower 
Hill,  where  they  will  cut  off  my  head  with  a 
sharp  axe,  and  set  it  up  afterwards  over  Temple 
Bar  or  London  Bridge." 

At  this  terrible  intelligence,  Lucy  screamed 
aloud,  and  hid  her  face  in  her  father's  bosom, 
which  she  wet  with  her  tears.  "  Be  composed, 
my  dear  child,"  said  her  father,  "  for  I  have  much 
to  say  to  you ;  and  we  may  never  meet  again  in 
this  world."  "  No,  no,  dear  papa !  they  shall  not 
kill  you  ;  for  I  will  cling  so  fast  about  your  neck, 
that  they  cannot  cut  your  head  off;  and  I  will 
tell  them  all  how  good  and  kind  you  are ;  and 
then  they  will  not  want  to  kiU  you."  "  My  dear- 
est love,  all  this  would  be  of  no  use,"  said  her 
father.  "I  have  offended  against  the  law,  by 
trying  to  have  my  old  master,  King  James, 
restored  to  the  throne.  Lucy,  do  you  not  re- 
member that  I  once  took  you  to  Whitehall,  to 
see  King  James,  and  how  kindly  he  spoke  to 
you  ?  " 

O,  yes,  papa !  and  I  pecQllect  he  lai4  ]ns  hand 


LUCY   AND    HER   FATHER.  21 

on  my  head,  and  said  I  was  like  what  his 
daughter,  the  Princess  of  Orange,  was  at  my 
age  ; "  replied  Lucy,  with  great  animation. 

"  Well,  my  child,  very  soon  after  you  saw 
King  James  at  Whitehall,  the  Prince  of  Orange, 
who  had  married  his  daughter,  came  over  to 
England,  and  drove  King  James  out  of  his 
palace  and  kingdom ;  and  the  people  made  him 
and  the  Princess  of  Orange  king  and  queen  ia 
his  stead." 

"  But  was  it  not  very  wicked  of  the  Princess 
to  take  her  father's  kingdom  away  from  him  ? 
I  am  very  sorry  King  James  thought  me  like 
her,"  said  Lucy  earnestly. 

"  Hush,  hush,  my  love !  You  must  not  speak 
so  of  the  Queen.  Perhaps  she  thought  she  was 
doing  right  to  deprive  her  father  of  his  kingdom, 
because  he  had  embraced  the  Catholic  religion ; 
and  it  is  against  the  law  for  a  king  of  England 
to  be  a  Catholic.  Yet,  I  confess,  I  did  not  think 
she  would  consent  to  sign  the  death-warrant  of 
so  many  of  her  father's  old  servants,  only  on  ac- 
count of  their  faitliful  attachment  to  him,"  said 
he,  with  a  sigh. 

"  I  have  heard  that  the  Princess  of  Orange  is 
of  a  merciful  disposition,"  said  old  Amy  Grad- 
well,  "  and  perhaps  she  might  be  induced  to 
spare  your  life,  my  lord,  if  your  pardon  were 


fit  LUCY'S    COURAGE. 

very  earnestly  entreated  of  her,  by  some  of  your 
friends." 

"  Alas !  my  good  Amy,  no  one  will  undertake 
the  perilous  office  of  pleading  for  a  traitor,  lest  Lb 
should  be  suspected  of  favoring  King  James." 

"  Dear  papa,  let  me  go  to  the  Queen,  and  beg 
your  pardon,"  cried  Lucy,  with  a  crimsoned  cheek 
and  sparkling  eye.  "  I  will  so  beg  and  pray  her 
to  spare  your  life,  dear  father,  that  she  will  not 
have  the  heart  to  deny  me." 

"  Dear  simple  child !  What  could  you  say 
.'o  the  Queen  that  would  be  of  any  avail  ?  " 

"  Grod  would  teach  me  what  to  say,"  replied 
Lucy.  Her  father  clasped  her  to  his  bosom. 
*'  But,"  said  he,  "  thou  wouldst  be  afraid  of 
speaking  to  the  Queen,  even  should  you  be  ad- 
mitted to  her  presence,  my  child." 

"  Why  should  I  be  afraid  of  speaking  to  her, 
papa?  Should  she  be  angry  with  me,  and 
answer  me  harshly,  I  shall  be  thinking  too  much 
of  you  to  care  about  it ;  and  if  she  should  send 
me  to  the  Tower,  and  cut  off  my  head,  God  will 
take  care  of  my  immortal  soul." 

"  You  are  right,  my  child,  to  fear  God,  and 
have  no  other  fear.  He,  perhaps,  has  put  it  into 
thy  little  heart  to  plead  for  thy  father's  life; 
which  if  it  be  his  pleasure  to  grant,  I  shall  in- 
deed feel  it  a  happiness,  that  my  child  should  bo 


Lucy's  eksolution.  23 

the  instrument  of  my  deliverance.  If  it  should 
be  otherwise,  God's  wiU  be  done.  He  will  not 
forsake  my  good  and  dutiful  little  one,  when  I 
am  laid  low  in  the  dust." 

"  But  how  will  my  lady  Lucy  gain  admittance 
to  the  Queen's  presence  ?  "  asked  old  Amy,  who 
had  been  a  weeping  spectator  of  this  interesting 
scene. 

"  I  will  write  a  letter  to  my  friend,  the  Lady 
Clareijdon,  requesting  her  to  accomplish  the 
matter,"  said  Lord  Preston.  He  then  wrote  a 
few  hasty  lines,  which  he  gave  to  his  daughter, 
telling  her  that  she  was  to  go  to  the  palace,  the 
next  day,  properly  attended,  and  give  the  letter 
to  Lady  Clarendon,  who  was  there  waiting  upon 
the  Queen.  He  then  kissed  his  child  tenderly, 
and  bade  her  farewell.  Though  Lucy  wept  as 
she  parted  from  her  father,  yet  she  left  the  Tower 
with  a  far  more  quiet  mind  than  she  had  entered 
it;  for  she  had  formed  her  resolution,  and  her 
young  heart  was  full  of  hope.  The  next  morn- 
ing, the  little  Lady  Lucy  was  up  before  the  lark, 
dressed  in  a  suit  of  deep  mourning ;  and  as  she 
passed  through  the  hall,  leaning  on  her  nurse's 
arm,  and  attended  by  her  father's  confidential 
secretary  and  the  old  butler,  all  the  servants 
shed  tears,  and  prayed  that  God  would  bless  and 
prosper  her.      Lady  Lucy  was  introduced  to 


84  LUCT  AND    THE    COUNTESS. 

Lady  Clarendon's  apartments  before  she  had  left 
her  bed ;  and  having  told  her  artless  story  with 
great  earnestness,  presented  her  father's  letter. 

Lady  Clarendon  was  very  kind  to  little  Lucy, 
but  told  her  plainly  that  she  did  not  dare  to  ask 
her  father's  life,  because  her  husband  was  already 
suspected  of  holding  secret  correspondence  with 
his  brother-in-law,  King  James.  "  O,"  said  Lucy, 
"  if  I  could  only  see  the  Queen  myself,  I  would 
not  wish  any  one  to  speak  for  me.  I  would  plead 
80  earnestly,  that  she  could  not  refuse  me,  I  am 
sure." 

"  Poor  child !  What  could  you  say  to  the 
Queen?" 

"  God  will  direct  me  what  to  say,"  replied 
Lucy. 

"  Well,  my  love,  you  shall  have  the  opportu- 
nity ;  but  much  I  fear  your  little  heart  will  fail, 
when  you  see  the  Queen  face  to  face." 

The  Countess  hastened  to  rise  and  dress,  and 
then  conducted  Lucy  into  the  palace  gallery, 
where  the  Queen  usually  passed  an  hour  in  walk- 
ing, early  in  the  morning.  While  they  were 
waiting  for  the  Queen,  Lady  Clarendon  tried  to 
amuse  little  Lucy,  by  showing  her  the  pictures 
which  hung  on  the  wall.  "  1  know  that  gentle- 
man well,"  said  Lucy,  pointing  to  a  fulWengtb 
portrait  of  James  U.    "  That  is  a  portrait  of 


LUCT   AND    THE   QUEEN.  25 

Queen  Mary's  father,"  said  the  Countess.  "  But 
hark !  here  comes  the  Queen  with  her  ladies. 
Now,  Lucy,  is  the  time.  I  will  step  into  the 
recess,  yonder;  but  you  must  remain  alone, 
.  standing  where  you  are.  When  the  Queen  ap- 
proaches, kneel  and  present  your  father's  petition. 
She  who  walks  before  the  other  ladies  is  the 
Queen.     Be  of  good  courage." 

Lady  Clarendon  then  made  a  hasty  retreat. 
Lucy's  heart  beat  violently,  when  she  found  her- 
self alone ;  but  her  resolution  did  not  fail  her. 
She  stood  with  folded  hands,  pale  but  composed, 
and  motionless  as  a  statue,  awaiting  the  Queen's 
approach ;  and  when  the  Queen  came  near,  she 
advanced  a  step  forward,  dropped  on  her  knees, 
and  presented  the  petition. 

The  extreme  beauty  of  the  child,  her  deep 
mourning,  the  touching  sadness  of  her  look  and 
manner,  and,  above  all,  the  streaming  tears  that 
bedewed  her  cheek,  excited  the  Queen's  atten- 
tion and  interest.  She  paused,  spoke  kindly  to 
her,  and  took  the  offered  paper ;  but  when  she 
saw  the  name  of  Lord  Preston,  her  color  rose, 
she  frowned,  cast  the  petition  fram  her,  and 
would  have  passed  on;  but  Lucy,  who  had 
watched  her  countenance  with  an  anxiety  which 
almost  amounted  to  agony,  losing  all  awe  for 
royalty  in  her  fears  for  her  father,  put  forth  her 
3 


ifi  LUCY   AND    THE    QUEEN. 

hand,  and,  grasping  the  Queen's  robe,  cried  in  an 
imploring  tone,  "  Spare  my  father !  my  dear, 
dear  father,  royal  lady ! " 

Lucy  had  meant  to  say  many  persuasive 
things ;  but,  in  her  sore  distress,  she  forgot  them 
all,  and  could  only  repeat,  "  Save  my  father, 
gracious  Queen ! "  till  her  feelings  choked  her 
voice,  and  throwing  her  arms  round  the  Queen's 
knees,  she  leaned  her  head  against  her  person, 
and  sobbed  aloud.  Queen  Mary  pitied  the  dis- 
tress of  her  young  petitioner ;  but  she  considered 
the  death  of  Lord  Pijpston  a  measure  of  political 
necessity,  because  he  was  a  ringleader  in  a  con- 
spiracy to  overturn  the  government,  and  bring 
back  King  James,  her  father,  to  the  throne.  She 
therefore  told  Lucy  mildly,  but  firmly,  that  she 
could  not  grant  her  request. 

"  But  he  is  good  and  kind  to  every  one,"  said 
Lucy,  raising  her  blue  eyes,  which  were  swira- 
ing  in  tears,  to  the  face  of  the  Queen.  "He 
may  be  so  to  you,  child,"  returned  the  Queen; 
"  but  he  has  broken  the  laws  of  his  country,  and 
therefore  he  must  die." 

"  But  you  can  pardon  him,"  replied  Lucy, 
and  I  have  learned  that  God  has  said,  '  Blessed 
are  the  merciful,  for  they  shall  obtain  mercy.' " 

"  It  does  not  become  a  little  child  like  you  to 
attempt  to  instruct    me,"    replied    the    Queen      ,. 


LUCY   PREVAILS.  27 

gravely ;  "  I  am  acquainted  with  my  duty.  It  is 
my  place  to  administer  justice  impartially  ;  and 
it  is  not  possible  for  me  to  pardon  your  father, 
however  painful  it  may  be  to  deny  so  dutiful  a 
child." 

Lucy  did  not  reply ;  she  only  raised  her  eyes 
with  an  appealing  look  to  the  Queen,  and  then 
turned  them  expressively  on  the  portrait  of  King 
James.  This  excited  the  Queen's  curiosity,  and 
she  inquired  of  Lucy  why  she  gazed  so  intently 
upon  that  picture.  "  I  was  thinking,  "  replied 
Lucy,  "  how  very  strange,  it  is,  that  you  should 
wish  to  kill  my  father,  only  because  he  loved 
yours  so  faithfully." 

This  wise  and  artless  reproof  from  so  young  a 
child  went  to  the  very  heart  of  the  Queen.  She 
raised  her  eyes  to  that  once  dear  and  honored 
parent  who  had  ever  been  a  tender  father  to  her ; 
and  when  she  thought  of  him  as  an  exile  in  a 
foreign  land,  relying  upon  the  bounty  of  strangers 
for  his  daily  bread,  while  she  was  invested  with 
the  royalty  of  which  he  had  been  deprived,  the 
contrast  between  herself  and  the  pious  and  du- 
tiful child  before  her  affected  her  heart,  and 
she  burst  into  tears.  "  Rise,  dear  child,"  said 
she,  "  I  cannot  make  thee  an  orphan.  Thou  hast 
prevailed.  Thy  father  shall  not  die.  Thy  filial 
love  has  saved  him  ! " 


28      , 

CHAPTER  m. 

SISTERLY    AFFECTION. 

EXT  to  the  duty  of  childi-en 
•to  their  parents  is  their  duty 
to  their  brothers  and  sisters, 
of  the  same  family.  Affection 
lies  at  the  foundation  of  the 
social  relations,  and  mutual 
love  is  the  reigning  spirit  in 
every  well- regulated  family. 
But  love  may  exist,  and  yet  some- 
times give  way  to  a  naughty  tem- 
per, the  evils  of  which  cannot,  for 
>a  long  time,  be  remedied.  And,  if  you 
would  cherish  love,  you  must  not  do 
violence  to  it,  by  the  indulgence  of  con- 
trary feelings  and  dispositions.  Love 
is  a  tender  plant,  which  will  not  bear  the 
east  wind.  The  following  anecdotes  illustrate 
both  sides  of  this  subject. 

The  Miss  Singers. 
The  following  account  was  ^ven    by  Miss 


THE   MISS    SINGERS.  29 

Philomela  Singer  (afterwards  Mrs.  Howe)  to 
Rev.  Dr.  CoLman,  when  he  was  in  England : 

"  My  sister  was  a  year  or  two  younger  than 
I ;  and  her  affection,  as  well  as  wit,  was  quicker. 
I  seemed,  however,  myself  to  think  more  thor- 
oughly. She  desired  ever  to  be  with  me,  and  I 
■wanted  to  be  more  by  myself.  We  often  retired, 
by  consent,  each  to  her  chamber,  to  compose,  and 
then  meet  to  compare  what  we  had  written.  She 
always  exceeded  me  in  the  number  of  lines ;  but 
mine,  I  think,  were  more  correct.  She  exceeded 
me  much  in  the  fondness  of  love,  but  never  in 
the  truth  and  strength  of  it.  She  was  jealous 
of  me,  that  my  love  was  not  equal  to  hers,  and 
invented  a  hundred  ways  to  try  me  ;  many  of 
which  I  thought  childish  and  weak,  and  therefore 
sometimes  rather  reproved  than  complied  with 
them.  This  gave  her  grief,  and  I  found  her  in 
tears,  which  I  could  not  put  a  stop  to,  but  by  the 
tenderest  words  and  embraces. 

"  We  lived  years  together,  as  happy  as  children 
could  be  in  each  other.  We  lived  religioxisly 
together.  We  took  care  of  one  another's  souls, 
and  had  our  constant  hours  of  retirement  and 
devotion.  We  were  daily  speaking  to  each  other 
of  Grod ;  his  being,  perfections,  and  work ! ;  the 
wonders  of  creation  and  providence,  the  myste- 
ries of  redemption  and  gra/je.  My  father,  in  his 
8* 


off  A   TOUCHING    SCENE. 

widowhood,  took  great  delight  in  us,  and  cherish- 
ed our  love  to  God  and  one  another ;  but,  like 
good  Jacob,  was  fondest  of  the  youngest,  admiring 
all  she  said  and  did ;  and  in  her  death  he  was  to 
be  tried.  But  it  was  /  that  was  taken  sick,  to  a 
very  dangerous  degree.  When  my  physicians 
were  giving  me  over,  my  sister  came  to  me, 
drowned  in  tears,  and,  earnestly  kissing  me,  be- 
sought me  to  tell  her  whether  I  was,  through 
grace,  prepared  to  die  ;  whether  my  interest  in 
Christ  and  title  to  heaven  were  comfortable  and 
clear  to  me.  For  she  was  afraid  I  should  die, 
and  she  could  not  part  with  me,  only  to  go  to 
Christ,  which  was  far  better.  I  earnestly  looked 
upon  her,  and  said, '  Why !  sister,  do  you  think 
me  dangerous  ?  I  must  confess  to  you,  my  dis- 
tress would  be  great,  if  I  thought  my  dying  hour 
were  now  coming  on ;  for  I  have  not  that  full  as- 
surance of  my  interest  in  Christ,  which  I  have 
always  begged  of  God  I  might  have,  before  he 
should  call  me  hence.' 

"  No  sooner  had  she  heard  me  say  this,  than 
she  fell,  as  in  agony,  on  her  knees,  by  my  bed, 
and  in  a  manner  inexpressible  for  fervor  and  hu- 
mility, she  begged  of  God,  that,  if  her  father  must 
have  the  grief  of  burying  one  of  his  children,  it 
might  be  herself;  for  through  his  free  grace,  and 
t«j  the  glory  of  it,  she  could  humbly  profess  before 


A   STRANGE   EVENT.  31 

him,  her  assured  hope  of  her  interest  in  his  ever- 
lasting mercy,  through  Jesus  Christ :  wherefore 
she"  could  gladly  and  joyfully  surrender  herself 
to  die,  if  it  might  please  God  to  grant  her  sister 
further  space  wherein  to  make  her  calling  and 
election  sure.  Having  prayed  thus,  in  a  trans- 
port which  was  surprising  and  astonishing  to  me, 
she  kissed  me,  and  left  the  room,  without  giving 
me  time  or  power  to  answer  a  word.  And,  what 
is  almost  incredible  to  relate,  from  that  moment 
I  grew  better,  and  recovered ;  but  she  took  to  her 
bed,  and  died  within  a  few  days.  Conceive,  if 
you  can,  how  I  was  astonished  by  this  event  of 
Providence,  and  overwhelmed  with  sorrow  ;  and 
my  father  with  me.  The  load  of  grief  upon  me 
confined  me  to  my  chamber  for  more  than  six 
weeks.  My  chief  work  was  to  consider  the  mind 
of  God,  in  this  his  mercy  to  me ;  that  I  might 
make  it  evident  to  myself,  that,  indeed,  in  love  to 
my  soul,  he  had  delivered  me  from  the  pit  of  de- 
struction. "We  durst  not  be  inconsolable,  under  a 
bereavement  so  circumstanced ;  yet  my  mourning 
is  always  returning,  with  the  remembrance  of  a 
love  stronger  than  death,  and  bright  like  that  of 
the  seraphim,  those  flames  of  love  and  devotion." 
The  death  of  the  younger  sister  might,  per- 
haps, be  accounted  for  on  natural  principles,  by 
the  influence  of  a  strong  belief  that  her  prayer 


52  DISINTEEESTED    AFFECTION. 

would  be  answered,  upon  a  lively  imagination, 
and  a  nervous  temperament.  But  the  recovery 
of  the  other  could  hardly  be  so  accounted  for.  *  It 
is  the  more  reasonable  to  regard  it  as  a  direct 
answer  to  prayer ;  which  is  agreeable  to  Scrip- 
ture, for  the  feelings  which  the  younger  sister 
manifested  were  such  as  God  approves.  It  was 
Christ-like.  "  Hereby  perceive  we  the  love  of 
God,  because  he  laid  down  his  life  for  us ;  and 
we  ought  to  lay  dovm  our  lives  for  the  brethren." 
It  was  disinterested  love ;  and  who  can  help  ad- 
miring its  strength  and  ardor  ? 

This  example  of  sisterly  affection  is  worthy  of 
being  followed ;  all  except  the  jealousy  manifested 
by  the  younger  sister,  lest  the  elder's  love  should 
not  equal  her  own.  Their  example  in  helping 
each  other  on  their  way  to  heaven,  and  in  con- 
versing on  heavenly  tilings,  is  worthy  the  imita- 
tion of  all  good  sisters. 


A   Generous  Sister.        # 

When  Rev.  Mr.  Knibb,  the  missionary,  was 
teaching  a  school  in  Jamaica,  a  little  boy  had 
been  guilty  of  profaneness  ;  and  Mr.  Knibb  was 
going  to  shut  him  up  for  some  hours  alone,  after 
school.     But  the  little  boy's  sister  came  to  him, 


PRATINa   SISTERS  M 

and  begged  to  be  shut  up  instead  of  her  brother. 
To  try  her  affection,  he  consented ;  and  she  cheer 
fully  took  the  boy's  place,  while  he  was  dismissed. 
But  the  teacher,  having  satisfied  himself  of  her 
sincerity,  dismissed  her ;  when  she  said,  "  School- 
massa,  me  know  it  bad  for  curse ;  and  if  my 
broder  eber  do  it  'gin,  me  bring  him  you  for 
punish."  On  their  way  home,  the  little  boy 
swore  again  ;  and  she  immediately  brought  hira 
back  to  be  shut  up. 


The  Praying  Sisters. 

Two  brothers  left  their  mother  and  sisters,  and 
went  to  a  distant  state.  There  they  embraced 
some  fatal  religious  errors,  which  were  like  to 
prove  their  ruin.  They  had  two  pious  sisters, 
who  no  sooner  heard  of  it,  than  they  agreed  with 
each  other  to  spend  half  an  hour  every  Saturday 
evening  at  sunset,  separately,  in  prayer  for  their 
brothers.  The  two  brothers  were  awakened, 
and  hopefully  converted  to  God.  While  this 
incident  furnishes  a  beautiful  example  of  sisterly 
affection,  it  likewise  affords  encouragement  to 
pray  for  our  friends,  in  the  most  desperate  cir- 
cumstances.    Grod  is  a  hearer  of  prayer. 


$1  UNKINDNESS. 


EFFECTS    OF   UNKINDNESS. 

The  following  story  is  taken  from  the  "Re- 
ligious Magazine,"  a  work  which  was  several 
years  ago  published  in  the  city  of  Boston.  It  is 
well  told,  and  true  to  the  life  ;  so  that,  contrary  to 
my  usual  practice,  I  have  inserted  it  entire,  with- 
out writing  it  over.  Do  any  of  my  gentle  readers 
ever  get  into  such  an  angry,  cross,  unkind  mood 
as  that  exhibited  by  Clara  ?  If  so,  I  think  they 
cannot  read  this  affecting  story,  without  resolving 
never  again  to  indulge  such  a  temper. 

Be  Kind  to  your  Sister. 

One  morning,  there  was  a  little  girl  sitting  on 
the  door-steps  of  a  pleasant  cottage  near  the 
Common.  She  was  thin  and  pale.  Her  head 
was  resting  upon  her  slender  hand.  There  was 
a  touching  sadness  in  her  sweet  face,  which  the 
dull,  heavy  expression  about  her  jet-black  eyes 
did  not  destroy. 

Her  name  was  Helen.  For  several  weeks  she 
*had  seemed  to  be  drooping,  without  any  particular 
disease,  inconstant  in  her  attendance  at  school, 
and  losing  gradually  her  interest  in  all  her  former 
employments.  Helen  had  one  sister,  Clara,  a 
little  older  than  herself,  apd  several  brothers. 


UKKINDNESS.  85 

While  she  was  most  indisposed,  they  had  express- 
ed a  great  deal  of  sympathy,  and  tried  to  amuse 
her,  and  had  willingly  given  up  their  own  enjoy- 
ments to  promote  hers.  But  children  will  too 
often  be  selfish ;  and  when  Helen,  for  some  days, 
appeared  better,  and  was  able  to  run  about  and 
amuse  herself,  they  would  forget  how  peculiarly 
eensitive  she  had  become ;  and  the  cross  words 
which  they  occasionally  spoke,  and  the  neglect 
with  which  they  sometimes  treated  her,  wounded 
her  feelings,  and  caused  her  to  shed  many  bitter 
tears  as  she  lay  awake  on  her  little  cot  at  night. 

This  day  she  seemed  better ;  and  it  was  some- 
thing her  sister  had  said  to  her  just  before,  which 
gave  that  expression  of  sadness  to  her  face,  as 
she  sat  at  the  door  of  the  cottage.  Clara  soon 
came  to  her  again. 

"  Helen,  mother  says  you  must  go  to  school  to- 
day ;  so  get  up,  come  along  and  get  ready,  and 
not  be  moping  there  any  longer." 

"  Did  ma  say  so  ?  "  said  Helen. 

"  Yes,  she  did,"  replied  Clara.  "  You  are  well 
enough,  I  know,  for  you  always  say  you  are  sick 
at  school-time.  Get  your  bonnet,  for  I  shan't 
wait." 

Helen  got  up  slowly,  and,  wiping  with  her 
apron  the  tear  which  had  started  in  her  eye,  made 
preparations  to  obey  her  mother's  command. 


36  SELFISHNESS. 

Now  Clara  had  a  very  irritable  disposition. 
She  could  not  bear  to  have  Helen  receive  any 
more  attention  or  sympathy  than  herself;  and 
unless  she  were  really  so  sick  as  to  excite  her 
fears,  she  never  would  allow  her  to  be  sick  at  all. 
She  was  determined  not  to  go  to  school  alone  this 
morning,  and  had  persuaded  her  mother  to  make 
her  sister  go  with  her. 

In  a  few  moments  they  were  both  ready  ;  but 
now  a  difl5.culty  presented  itself.  The  distance 
to  school  was  so  great  that  they  seldom  returned 
atf  noon.  Their  dinner  had  been  packed  for  them 
in  a  large  basket,  Which  stood  in  the  entry. 
Upon  whom,  now,  should  the  task  of  carrying 
this  devolve  ? 

"  Helen,"  said  Clara,  "  I  've  carried  the  basket 
every  day  for  a  week ;  it  is  your  turn  now." 

"  But  it  is  twice  as  heavy  now,"  said  Helen. 
I  can  but  just  lift  it."  ;;> 

"  "Well,  I  don't  care,"  replied  Clara.  "I  have 
got  my  geography  and  atlas  to  carry ;  so  take  it 
up,  and  come  along,  Miss  Fudge.  /  shan't 
touch  it." 

Helen  took  up  the  basket,  without  saying 
another  word,  though  it  required  all  her  little 
strength,  and  walked  slowly  behind  her  sister. 
She  tried  hard  to  keep  from  crying ;  but  the  tears 
would  come  as  fast  as  she  wiped  them  off.    They 


ILL-HUilOK.  37 

walked  on  thus  in  silence  for  about  a  quarter  of 
an  hour.  Clara  felt  too  much  ill  humor  to  take 
the  least  notice  of  her  sister.  She  knew  she  had 
done  wrong,  and  felt  uneasy,  but  was  yet  too 
proud  to  give  up,  and  was  determined  to  "  hold 
out ;"  excusing  herself  by  thinking,  "  Well,  Helen 
is  always  saying  she  is  sick,  and  making  a  greaf 
fuss.  It  is  just  good  enough  for  her."  When 
she  had  reached  the  half-way  stone,  she  had  half 
a  mind  not  to  let  her  rest  there,  as  usual ;  but  the 
habit  was  too  strong  to  be  easily  broken,  and  she 
sat  down  sullenly  to  wait  for  Helen  to  come  up. 

This  was  a  spot  which  few  could  have  passed 
unnoticed.  The  broad,  flat  stone  was  shaded  by 
a  beautiful  weeping-willow,  whose  branches  hung 
so  low,  that  even  little  Maria  could  reach  them 
by  standing  on  tiptoe ;  —  and  around  the  trunk 
of  this  tree  ran  a  little  brook,  which  came  up  just 
to  this  rustic  seat,  and  then  turned  off  into  the 
next  meadow.  It  would  seem  as  if  the  beauty 
of  this  place  must  have  charmed  away  the  evil 
spirit  which  was  raging  in  Clara's  breast ;  —  but 
no !  The  cool  shade  brought  no  refreshment  to 
those  evil  passions,  and  the  little  ripples  which 
sparkled  in  the  sunbeam  did  not,  for  one  moment, 
divert  her  attention  from  her  own  cross  feelings. 
As  I  said  before,  she  sat  suUenly,  till  Helen  came 
up,  and  then  began  to  scold  her  for  being  so  slow. 
4 


38  AN6EH. 

"Why  don't  you  come  along  fast-er,  Helen? 
You  will  be  late  to  school,  and  I  don't  care  if  you 
are :  you  deserve  a  good  scolding,  for  acting  so." 

"  Why,  Clara,  I  am  very  tired,  my  head  does 
ache,  and  this  basket  is  very  heavy.  I  do  think 
you  ought  to  carry  it  the  rest  of  the  way." 

^'  Do  give  it  to  me,  then,"  said  Clara ;  and 
snatched  it  from  her  with  such  violence,  that  the 
cover  came  off.  The  apples  rolled  out  and  fell 
into  the  water,  the  gingerbread  followed,  and  the 
pie  rolled  into  the  dirt.  It  has  been  truly  said, 
"  Anger  is  a  short  madness ;"  for  how  little  reason 
have  those  who  indulge  in  it !  Helen  was  not  to 
blame  for  the  accident,  but  Clara  did  not  stop  to 
think  of  this.  Vexed  at  having  thus  lost  her 
dinner,  she  turned  and  gave  her  little  sister  a 
push,  and  then  walked  on  as  rapidly  as  possible. 
Oh !  could  she  have  foreseen  the  consequences  of 
this  rash  act,  —  could  she  have  known  the  bitter 
anguish  which  it  would  afterwards  cause  her, 
worlds  would  not  have  tempted  her  to  do  it ;  but 
Olara  was  angry.  Helen  was  seated  just  on  the 
edge  of  the  stone,  and  she  fell  into  the  water.  It 
was  not  deep.  She  had  waded  there  many  a 
day  with  her  shoes  and  stockings  off,  and  she 
easily  got  out  again  ;  but  it  frightened  her  very 
much,  and  took  away  all  her  strength.  She  could 
not  even  call  to  her  sister,  or  cry.    A  strange 


BITTER   BEGKET.  39  " 

feeling  came  over  her,  such  as  she  had  never 
had  before.  She  laid  her  head  on  the  stone, 
closed  her  eyes,  and  thought  she  was  going  to 
die ;  and  she  wished  her  mother  was  there.  Then 
she  seemed  to  sleep  for  a  few  moments ;  but 
by  and  bye  she  felt  better,  and  getting  up  she 
took  her  empty  basket,  and  walked  on  as  fas't  as 
as  she  was  able  towards  school. 

It  was  nearly  half  done  when  she  arrived  there 
and,  as  she  entered  the  room,  aU  noticed  her  pale 
face  and  wet  dress.  She  took  her  seat,  and, 
placing  her  book  before  her,  leaned  her  aching 
head  upon  her  hand,  and  attempted  to  study,  but 
in  vain.  She  could  not  fix  her  attention  at  all. 
The  strange  feeling  began  to  come  over  her  once 
more ;  —  the  letters  all  mingled  together  ;  the 
room  grew  dark  ;  the  shrill  voice  of  the  little  child 
screaming  its  A  B  C  in  front  of  her  desk,  grew 
fainter  and  fainter;  —  her  head  smik  upon  her 
book,  and  she  fell  to  the  floor. 

Fainting  was  so  unusual  in  this  school,  that  all 
was  instantly  confusion,  and  it  was  some  minutes 
before  the  teacher  could  restore  order.  Helen 
was  brought  to  the  air ;  two  of  her  companions 
were  despatched  for  water ;  and  none  were  allowed 
to  remain  near  excepting  Clara,  who  stood  by, 
trembling  from  head  to  foot,  and  almost  as  whice 
as  the  insensible  object  before  her.     Oh !  what  a 


40  RESOLUTIONS. 

moment  of  anguish  was  this,  —  deep,  bitter  an- 
gaish !  Her  anger  melted  away  at  once,  and  she 
would  almost  have  sacrificed  her  own  life  to  have 
recalled  the  events  of  the  morning.  That  was 
impossible.  The  future,  however,  was  still  before 
her ;  and  she  determined  never  again  to  indulge 
her  temper,  or  be  unkind  to  any  one.  If  Helen 
only  recovered,  the  future  would  be  spent  in 
atoning  for  her  past  unkindness.  It  seemed,  for 
a  short  time,  indeed,  as  if  she  would  be  called 
upon  to  fulfil  these  promises.  Helen  gradually 
grew  better,  and  in  about  an  hour  was  apparently 
as  well  as  usual.  It  was  judged  best,  however, 
for  her  to  return  home ;  and  a  farmer,  who  hap- 
pened to  pass  in  a  new  gig,  very  kindly  offered 
to  take  her. 

Clara  could  not  play  with  the  girls  as  usual,  — 
she  could  not  study.  Her  heart  was  fuU,  and 
she  was  very  impatient  to  be  once  more  by  her 
sister's  side. 

O  how  eagerly  she  watched  the  sun  in  his  slow 
progress  round  the  school-house !  and  when  at  last 
he  threw  his  slanting  beams  through  the  west 
window,  she  was  the  first  to  obey  the  joyful  sig- 
nal ;  and  books,  papers,  pen  and  ink,  instantly 
disappeared  from  her  desk. 

Clara  did  not  linger  on  her  way  home.  She 
even  passed  the  half-way  stone  with  no  other 


CL aba's  punishment.  41 

notice  than  a  deep  sigh.  She  hurried  to  her 
Bister's  bed-side,  impatient  to  show  her  the  cu- 
riosities she  had  collected,  and  to  make  up,  by 
every  little  attention,  for  her  unkindness.  Helen 
■was  asleep.  Her  face  was  no  longer  pale,  but 
flushed  with  a  burning  fever.  Her  little  hands 
were  hot ;  and,  as  she  tossed  restlessly  about  on  her 
pillow,  she  would  mutter  to  herself,  sometimes 
calling  on  her  sister,  to  "stop,  stop,"  and  then 
again  begging  her  not  to  throw  her  to  the  fishes. 

Clara  watched  long  in  agony,  for  her  to  awake. 
This  she  did  at  last ;  but  it  brought  no  relief  tc 
the  distressed  sister  and  friends.  She  did  not 
know  them,  and  continued  to  talk  incoherently 
about  the  events  of  the  morning.  It  was  too 
much  for  Clara  to  bear.  She  retired  to  her  own 
little  room  and  lonely  bed,  and  wept  till  she  could 
weep  no  more. 

By  the  first  dawn  of  light  she  w^as  at  her  sis- 
ter's bedside  ;  but  there  was  no  alteration.  For 
three  days  Helen  continued  in  this  state.  I 
would  not,  if  I  oould,  describe  the  agony  of  Clara 
as  she  heard  herself  thus  called  upon  and  deserv- 
edly reproached  by  the  dear  sufferer.  Her  pun- 
ishment was,  indeed,  greater  than  she  could  bear. 
At  the  close  of  the  third  day,  Helen  gave  signs 
of  returning  consciousness,  —  inquired  if  the  cold 
water  which  she  drank  would  injure  her, — 
4* 


*ft  Helen's,  death. 

recognized  her  mother,  and  anxiously  called  for 
Clara.  She  had  just  stepped  out,  but  was  im- 
mediately told  of  this.  Oh !  how  joyful  was  the 
summons !  She  hastened  to  her  sister,  who,  as 
she  approached,  looked  up  and  smiled.  The 
feverish  flush  from  her  cheek  was  gone,  —  she 
was  almost  deadly  pale.  By  her  own  request, 
her  head  had  been  raised  upon  two  or  three  pil- 
lows, and  her  little  emaciated  hands  were  folded 
over  the  white  coverlid.  Clara  was  entirely  over- 
come, she  could  only  weep ;  and  as  she  stooped 
to  kiss  her  sister's  white  lips,  the  child  threw  her 
arms  around  her  neck,  and  drew  her  still  nearer. 
It  was  a  long  embrace  ;  —  then  her  arms  moved 
convulsively,  and  fell  motionless  by  her  side  ;  — 
there  were  a  few  struggles,  —  she  gasped  once  or 
twice,  —  and  little  Helen  never  breathed  again. 

Days,  and  weeks,  and  months,  roUed  on.  Time 
had  somewhat  healed  the  wound  which  grief  for 
the  loss  of  an  only  sister  had  made  ;  but  it  had  not 
power  to  remove  from  Clara's  heart  the  remem- 
brance of  her  former  unkindness  which  poisoned 
many  an  hour.  She  never  took  her  little  basket 
of  dinner,  now  so  light,  or  in  her  solitary  walk  :o 
school  passed  the  half-way  stone,  without  a  deep 
sigh,  and  often  a  tear  of  bitter  regret. 

Children  who  are  what  Clara  was,  go  now  and 
be  what  Clara  is,  —  mild,  amiable,  obliging  and 
pleaisant  to  all. 


A  NICE    LITTLE    GIEL.  43 


Love  to  Brothers. 

A  gentleman,  walking  on  the  Battery  in  the 
city  of  New  York,  as  he  passed  a  little  girl,  who 
■was  blithely  rolling  her  hoop,  said,  "  You  are  a 
nice  little  girl;"  to  which  she  replied,  patting 
her  little  brother  on  the  head,  "  And  he  is  a  nice 
little  boy,  too."  Here  was  delicate,  disinterest- 
ed feeling.  This  amiable  little  girl  could  not 
bear  even  to  hear  herself  praised,  while  her  little 
brother  was  overlooked. 


A  Loving  Sister. 

Sophia  had  one  sister,  older  than  herself,  whom 
she  most  tenderly  loved.  If  she  had  any  nice 
things,  such  as  the  first  ripe  strawlnerry  or  peach 
or  plum,  or  any  thing  that  her  sister  relished,  she 
would  save  it  and  share  it  with  her,  because  she 
delighted  so  much  in  seeing  her  pleased.  It 
seemed  to  give  her  more  satisfaction  to  please  her 
sister  than  to  enjoy  any  pleasure  herself.  Such 
was  her  disinterested  affection,  that  her  teacher, 
on  one  occasion,  in  order  to  reward  her,  put  down 
her  sister's  name  among  a  select  few  who  were 
to  go  with  her  to  a  concert. 


44  A    GENEROUS    SISTEK. 

Another  time,  the  girls  in  the  boarding  school, 
which  they  attended,  were  directed  to  have  a 
piece  of  sewing  done  the  next  morning ;  and,  as 
Sophia's  sister  was  sometimes  negligent  of  her 
task,  she  was  threatened  with  punishment  if  she 
failed.  This  she  dreaded  very  much;  but  her 
dilatory  habits  prevailed ;  and  when  Sophia  had 
finished  hers,  her  sister  had  not  begun.  It  was 
now  evening,  and  she  had  abandoned  the  task  in 
despair,  thinking  it  too  late  to  have  it  finished. 
The  girls  were  all  playing  in  the  garden,  in  great 
glee,  when  it  was  suddenly  discovered  that  Sophia 
was  not  among  them.  This  occasioned  great  ex- 
citement among  the  group  ;  for  she  was  a  general 
favorite,  as  every  one  will  be  who  acts  from  the 
same  disinterested  feeling.  After  searching  the 
house  over,  she  was  at  last  discovered  in  an 
old  out-liouse,  with  the  door  fastened,  busily  at 
work  on  her  sister's  task,  that  she  might  save  her 
the  dreaded  punishment.  She  was  a  happy 
creature.  No  doubt,  she  had  much  more  enjoy- 
ment in  making  others  happy,  than  she  could 
have  had,  if  it  had  been  her  great  aim  to  please 
herself.  Truly,  as  our  Saviour  says,  "  It  is  more 
blessed  to  give  than  to  receive."  If  you  seek  to 
please  others,  you  Avill  be  sure  to  please  yourself; 
for  you  cannot  fail  to  enjoy  the  happiness  which 
you  impart  to  others. 


ATt 


CHAPTER  IV. 

BENEVOLENCE. 

;N  her  death-bed,  a  pious 
widow  in  England  called  her 
daughter,  and  said  to  her, 
I "  Here  are  twenty  pounds  :  I 
wish  you,  after  my  death,  to 
give  this  money  to  the  mission- 
ary cause  ;  and,  depend  upon 
it,  you  will  never  have  any 
reason  to  be  sorry  for  having  given 
,it."  This  was  when  the  missionary 
cause  first  began  to  attract  attention 
in  England,  and  when  many  people 
ridiculed  it.  But  the  daughter  cheer- 
fully obeyed  the  dying  command  of  her 
mother,  though  little  expecting  ever  in 
any  way  to  meet  a  return.  But  she 
had  a  son,  who  became  exceedingly  profligate, 
and  brought  heart-rending  trouble  upon  his 
mother.  He  became  utterly  unmanageable, 
either  by  tenderness  or  authority,  and  at  length 
forsook  his  friends,  entered  the  army,  and  vanished 


46  A   BOUNTIFUL  KETUBN. 

from  their  knowledge.  The  Providence  of  God 
led  him  to  India.  There  he  fell  in  company 
with  a  Christian  missionary,  who  dealt  faithfully 
with  liim,  and  was  the  means  of  his  conversion 
to  God.  After  a  while,  the  young  man  himself 
became  a  missionary,  and  wrote  to  his  mother, 
imploring  her  forgiveness,  and  informing  her  of 
the  alteration  that  had  taken  place  in  him  and  in 
his  employment.  Here  was  her  mother's  gift 
returned  into  her  bosom  a  hundred-fold.  But 
the  Lord  repays  bountifully  those  who  lend  to 
him.  This  woman  had  a  second  son,  who  was 
likewise  a  profligate,  and  had  entered  the  army 
before  this  news  reached  her.  He  also  was  led 
to  India.  There  he  was  taken  sick ;  and,  being 
affectionately  attended  by  the  missionaries,  he 
also  was  brought  to  repentance.  His  eldest 
brother,  who  was  several  hundred  miles  distant, 
and  who  did  not  know  that  he  was  in  India,  was 
providentially  led  to  visit  the  station  at  this  time. 
On  hearing  from  the  missionaries  the  interesting 
facts  in  the  case,  he  visited  the  young  man,  and, 
to  his  great  surprise  and  joy,  discovered  in  the 
sick  youth  his  own  brother !  He  remained  with 
him  till  his  death,  which  was  peaceful  and  happy. 
This  narrative  shows  that  it  is  profitable  to  give 
to  the  Lord,  and  illustrates  the  proverb,  "  Cast 
thy  bread  upon  the  waters,  and  thou  shalt  find  it 
after  many  days." 


THE   BIBD    IN   TROUBLE.  47 


A  Lesson  from  the  Birds. 

A  gentleman  observed,  in  a  thicket  of  bushes 
near  his  dwelling,  a  collection  of  brown  thrushes, 
who,  for  several  days,  attracted  his  attention  by 
their  loud  cries  and  strange  movements.  At 
length,  his  curiosity  was  so  much  excited,  that  he 
determined  to  see  if  he  could  ascertain  the  cause 
of  the  excitement  among  them.  On  examining 
the  bushes,  he  found  a  female  thrush,  whose 
wing  was  caught  in  a  limb  in  such  a  way,  that 
she  could  not  escape.  Near  by  was  her  nest, 
containing  several  half-grown  birds.  On  retiring 
a  little  distance,  a  company  of  thrushes  appeared, 
with  worms  and  other  insects  in  their  mouths, 
which  they  gave  first  to  the  mother,  and  then  to 
her  young;  she,  the  meanwhile,  cheering  them 
on  in  their  labor  of  love,  with  a  song  of  grati- 
tude. After  watching  the  interesting  scene  till 
his  curiosity  was  satisfied,  the  gentleman  released 
the  poor  bird,  when  she  flew  to  her  nest  with  a 
grateful  song  to  her  deliverer ;  and  her  charitable 
neighbors  dispersed  to  their  several  abodes,  sing- 
ing, as  they  went,  a  song  of  joy. 

"  Isn't  that  beautiful  ?  "  exclaims  a  sweet  little 
girl,  whose  happy  face  and  joyous  song,  and 
golden  ringlets  waving  in  the  air,  remind  one  of 


«»  now   TO    BE    LOVED. 

the  merry  songsters  of  the  grove.  Beautiful 
Indeed,  it  is.  But  I  can  tell  you  what  is  more 
beautiful  stiU.  It  is  that  little  girl  who  drops 
sweet  words,  kind  remarks,  and  pleasant  smiles, 
as  she  passes  along  —  who  has  a  kind  word  of 
sympathy  for  every  girl  or  boy  she  meets  in 
trouble,  and  a  kind  hand  to  help  her  companions 
out  of  difficulty  —  who  never  scowls,  never  con- 
tends, never  teazes  her  mates,  nor  seeks  in  any 
other  way  to  diminish,  but  always  to  increase, 
their  happiness.  Would  it  not  please  you  to 
pick  up  a  string  of  pearls,  drops  of  gold,  dia- 
monds, and  precious  stones,  as  you  pass  along 
the  streets  ?  But  these  are  the  true  pearls  and 
precious  stones,  which  can  never  be  lost.  Take 
the  hand  of  the  friendless.  Smile  on  the  sad 
and  dejected.  Sympathize  with  those  in  trouble. 
Strive  everywhere  to  diffuse  around  you  sunshine 
and  joy. 

If  you  do  this,  you  will  be  sure  to  be  loved. 
Dr.  Doddridge  one  day  asked  his  little  girl  why 
it  was  that  everybody  loved  her.  "  I  know  not," 
she  replied,  "  unless  it  be  that  I  love  everybody." 
This  is  the  true  secret  of  being  beloved.  "  He 
that  hath  friends,"  says  Solomon,  "must  show 
himself  friendly."  Love  begets  love.  If  you 
love  others,  they  cannot  help  loving  you.  So, 
tben,  do  not  f  ut  on  a  scowl,  and  fretfully  com- 


.    \  ■ 

A    KIND-HEAKTED    GIRL.  49 

plain  that  nobody  loves  you,  or  that  such  or  such 
a  one  does  not  like  you.  If  nobody  loves  you,  it 
is  your  own  fault.  Either  you  do  not  make 
yourself  lovely  by  a  sweet  ttmper  and  kind, 
winning  ways,  or  you  do  not  lovo.  those  of  whom 
you  complain. 


An  Angel  of  Mercy, 

Mr.  F.  Grummet,  an  English  gentleman,  was 
passing,  as  a  prisoner,  through  a  small  village 
near  Rochfort,  attended  by  a  band  of  soldiers. 
His  feet  were  much  blistered,  and  extremely 
sore.  He  had  covered  them  with  fresh  canvass  ; 
but  it  was  soon  worn  out,  and  he  suffered  dread- 
fully. About  noon,  they  halted  at  the  village  to 
rest  and  refresh.  He  took  his  seat  on  an  old  tea 
chest,  standing  in  front  of  a  little  shop,  and  re- 
moved his  tattered  moccasins.  While  he  was 
doing  this,  an  elderly  lady  came  out  of  the  shop, 
accompanied  by  a  young  girl,  prettily  dressed. 
"When  they  saw  him,  they  both  exclaimed,  "  Poor 
prisoner/"  The  girl,  with  tears  in  her  eyes, 
looked  at  his  lacerated  feet,  and  then,  without 
saying  a  word,  returned  to  the  house.  In  a  few 
minutes  she  re-appeared,  with  her  finery  taken 
off,  and  a  large  bowl  of  warm  water  in  her  hands. 
5 


60  A  BABE   PLEASUBE. 

In  a  moment,  the  bowl  was  placed  before  him, 
and  she  motioned  to  him  to  put  in  his  feet,  which 
he  did ;  and  then  down  she  went  on  her  knees, 
and  washed  them  in  the  most  tender  manner. 
The  mother  brought  him  food ;  while  the  daughter, 
having  finished  her  task,  wrapped  up  his  feet  in 
soft  linen,  and  then  fitted  on  a  pair  of  her  moth- 
er's shoes.  While  this  was  going  on,  a  number 
of  persons  had  collected  round,  and  stood,  silently 
witnessing  this  angelic  act  of  charity.  "  Elalie" 
(for  that  was  the  girl's  name)  "heeded  them 
not ;  but,  when  her  task  was  finished,  a  sweet 
smile  of  gratified  pleasure  beamed  on  her  face." 
Surely,  hers  was  a  rare  pleasure.  There  is  no 
enjoyment  greater  than  that  which  is  experienced 
in  relieving  the  distresses  or  administering  to  the 
enjoyment  of  others. 


51 


U 


CHAPTER  V. 

LEARNING    TO    WORK. 

OOR  and  helpless  will  that 
woman  be,  who  does  not  learn, 
when  a  girl,  to  employ  her 
hands  in  useful  labor.     She 
may  have  enough,  but  she 
will  not  know  how  to  use  it 
for  the  comfort  of  her  family. 
She  may  be  well  educated, 
and  able   to  converse  interesting- 
ly.     She  may  play  well  on    the 
piano.     And  all  this  is  well.     But, 
if  she  does  not  understand  work, 
her  common,  every-day  duties  cannot 
be  well  done ;  and  these  are  what,  in 
all   circumstances,   contribute  most    to 
the  comfort  of  every-day  life. 


Neio  Music. 

An  accomplished  young  lady  stepped  to  the 
door,  on  the  ringing  of  the  bell,  and  was  greeted 
by  a  young  gentleman  who  had  called  to  see  her. 


08  NEW  MUSIC. 

On  entering  the  parlor,  he  glanced  at  the  harp 
and  piano,  and  said,  ''  I  thought  I  heard  music : 
on  which  instrument  were  you  performing?" 
"  On  the  gridiron"  she  replied,  "  with  the  ac- 
companiment of  the  frying-pan.  My  mother  is 
without  help,  and  she  says  that  I  must  learn  to 
finger  these  instruments  sooner  or  later." 

Another  young  lady,  the  da'ighter  of  a  New- 
England  clergyman,  was  visiting  a  rich  uncle,  in 
a  great  city  in  a  neighboring  State  ;  and,  being 
asked  what  instrument  she  played  upon,  replied, 
"  When  I  am  at  home,  I  play  on  the  cooking 
stove."  These  young  ladies  had  the  good  sense 
not  to  be  ashamed  of  useful  labor.  It  is  a  fine 
thing  to  know  how  to  finger  the  piano,  and  play 
on  the  harp ;  but  these  accomplishments  are  a 
poor  substitute  for  the  ability  to  play  on  the 
cooking  stove. 

Making  Bread. 

Good  bread  is  one  of  the  necessaries  of  life. 
"With  it,  one  can  make  a  meal,  though  every 
thing  else  on  the  table  be  inferior.  Without  it, 
no  one  can  make  a  comfortable  meal.  But  lo 
make  good  bread  is  a  very  great  art,  and  one 
that  every  girl  ought  to  learn  in  her  raothei*'8 
house. 


MAKING   BREAD.  53 

There  was  a  young  lady,  who  had  been  brought 
up  in  fashionable  style,  and  was  really  quite  ac- 
complished ;  but,  her  parents  being  wealthy,  she 
was  under  no  necessity  of  laboring,  and  she  was 
educated  without  any  practical  knowledge  of 
household  affairs.  She  was  married ;  and  for 
some  time  things  went  on  very  well,  for  she  hap- 
pened to  have  an  excellent  cook.  But,  after  a 
while,  her  cook  left  her ;  and,  as  good  help  was 
scarce,  she  took  such  a  girl  as  she  could  get. 
The  first  thing  Nancy  was  required  to  do  was  to 
make  some  bread.     But  she  said  she  never  had 

done  such  work  before ;  but,  if  Mrs. would 

tell  her  how,  she  could  soon  learn.  And  now 
the  lady's  eyes  were  open,  the  first  time,  to  her 
mistake.  She  did  not  know  how  herself,  and 
how  could  she  teach  Nancy  ?  After  considering 
a  moment,  she  replied,  "Upon  the  whole,  aa 
there  is  so  much  more  that  is  important  to  be 
done,  we  will  put  this  matter  off,  and  try  baker's 
bread." 

After  some  days,  as  they  were  sitting  at  the 
table,  the  husband  inquired,  "  Cannot  Nancy 
make  bread  ?  I  am  getting  quite  tired  of  baker's 
bread."  "  She  shall  make  some,"  replied  the 
wife ;  "  but  this  is  nice  baker's  bread  —  I  don't 
know  but  it  is  better  than  any  home-made  bread 
I  ever  ate."  "There  is  nothing,"  rejoined  he, 
5* 


^ 


THE   FIRST    LOAP. 


"  like  good  home-made  bread,  such  as  my  mothet 
used  to  make." 

Nothing  could  be  more  mortifying  to  a  young 
wife,  than  to  find  herself  in  such  a  situation. 
She  was  quite  at  a  loss  what  to  do.  At  first,  she 
thought  of  confessing  her  ignorance  ;  but,  as  they 
had  now  been  married  some  time,  she  thought  it 
would  not  do.  The  bread  must  be  made ;  but 
how  ?  that  was  the  question.  She  concluded  to 
begin  with  pearlash  bread,  because  she  thought 
it  would  be  more  easily  managed  than  yeast; 
but  she  knew  nothing  about  it,  except  that  it 
must  be  made  of  flour,  milk,  salt,  and  pearlash. 
She  concluded  she  would  put  in  pearlash  enough, 
so  as  to  be  sure  and  have  it  light.  •  The  prepara- 
tion was   made,  and  it  was   put  in   the  oven. 

Mrs. sat  beside  the  stove,  anxiously  awaits 

ing  its  progress,  to  see  it  rise.  It  grew  beauti- 
fiiUy  brown  ;  but,  instead  of  rising  up  round  and 
plump,  it  remained  flat,  flat,  flat !     Dinner  came. 

Mr. walked  in,  with  a  friend  or  two  to  dine. 

They  sat  down  to  the  table.  The  mackerel  was 
well  broiled ;  the  potatoes  were  well  done ;  every 
thing  was  well,  but  the  bread  —  the  article  that 
her  husband  consiiered  most  important  —  he 
took  a  slice  ;  it  did  not  look  like  bread,  it  was 
tliickly  studded  with  little  brown  spots  of  undis- 
solved pearlash ;   and  then,   how   it    tasted !  — 


A    SAD    DILEBfllA.  55 

a  strange  mixture  of  salt  and  bitter.  He 
looked  surprised  and  mortified.  As  soon  as  they 
were  alone,  he  said,  "  Had  you  not  better  attend 
to  the  bread-making  yourself,  and  not  leave  that 
most  important  part  of  cooking  to  such  miserable, 
inexperienced  hands?"  She  went  away  and 
wept,  with  this  pitiful  lamentation,  "  What  shaJl 
I  do  ?  "  There  stood  the  piano  ;  and  there  waa 
the  handsome  worsted  work,  over  which  she  had 
spent  so  many  days  in  her  father's  house.  But 
of  what  use  were  all  these  fine  things  without 
bread  ?  She  had  just  discovered  that  she  could 
not  be  a  good  wife,  and  make  her  husband  and 
family  happy,  without  knowing  how  to  make 
bread  ;  and  this  most  important  branch  of  educa- 
tion had  been  entirely  neglected.  She  was  in- 
deed in  a  dilemma.  She,  however,  had  good 
sense  and  resolution  enough  to  surmount  the 
difficulty.  She  resolved,  from  that  moment,  to 
study  her  domestic  duties,  and  to  know  how  to 
become  a  skilful,  economical,  thrifty  housekeeper. 
But  she  had  a  long  and  wearisome  trial,  before 
she  was  able  to  set  before  her  husband  her  sweet, 
light,  and  wholesome  loaves.  When  she  found 
herself  in  the  sad  dilemma  that  has  been  des- 
cribed, she  would  have  given  all  her  knowledge 
of  music  and  embroidery  to  know  how  to  make 
good  bread.      Yet   do   not    understand  me   as 


.^m^ 


56.  MISS    COWIE. 

speaking  lightly  of  those  accomplishments.  They 
are  good  in  their  place,  and  a  great  addition  to 
a  young  lady's  education  ;  but  they  cannot  make 
up  for  the  want  of  a  knowledge  of  household 
affairs.  And,  if  my  gentle  readers  will  Hsten  to 
me,  I  would  have  them  know  that  there  is 
nothing  to  be  done  in  managing  the  house  I  it 
what  they  ought  to  understand  how  to  do,  by 
having  done  it  themselves,  and  done  it  repeat- 
edly, till  they  can  do  it  well.  In  no  other  way 
will  they  be  able  to  avoid  such  a  disagreeable 
dilemma  as  that  in  which  this  lady  found  herself. 


Jifiss  Rachel  Cowie  ;  afterwards  wife  of  Rev.  Dr. 
Milne,  missionary  to  China. 

The  following  brief  memoir  shows  the  impor- 
tance of  a  knowledge  of  some  useful  employ- 
ment, even  to  females  in  high  life.  It  likewise 
exhibits  a  beautiful  picture  of  filial  piety,  dili- 
gence, and  prudence. 

Miss  Cowie's  father  was  a  wealthy  man,  en- 
gaged in  extensive  business.  He  lived  in  Aber- 
deen, Scotland.  But,  in  that  country,  the  femalea 
of  many  families  in  the  higher  ranks  of  society, 
as  well  as  those  in  middling  circumstances,  are 
instructed  in  some  brj^ich  of  business  suited  to 


MISS    COWIE.  67 

their  strength.  This  is  an  excellent  custom ; 
for,  whatever  may  be  our  circumstances  to-day, 
we  know  not  what  they  will  be  to-morrow. 
Riches  are  no  sure  dependence,  for  they  often 
"take  to  themselves  wings."  This  is  especially 
the  case  in  this  country,  where  reverses  are  so 
common.  That  your  father  is  rich  to-day  is  no 
evidence  that  he  will  be  a  few  years  hence.  It 
is  therefore  necessary  that  you  should  be  pre- 
pared to  provide  for  yourself;  and,  to  be  so,  you 
must  not  despise  any  employment  that  is  useful 
and  suitable  for  your  sex. 

Rachel  Cowie  was  early  put  to  learn  a  branch 
of  the  millinery  business  ;  which  she  industriously 
acquired,  though  she  knew  not  that  she  should 
ever  need  it.  But,  after  a  while,  her  father's 
business  began  to  decline,  and  at  length  he  failed. 
He  gave  up  to  his  creditors  every  thing  but  their 
wearing  apparel  and  a  few  books.  Both  her 
parents  were  infirm,  with  no  means  of  support 
in  their  old  age.  There  was  no  one  but  herself 
on  whom  they  could  depend.  When  Rachel  saw 
the  decline  of  her  father's  business,  she  obtained 
his  consent  to  set  up  her  own.  She  had  a  small 
sura  of  money,  and  she  borrowed  a  little  more 
of  a  friend,  to  begin  with.  She  began  her  busi- 
ness, praying  that  God  would  prosper  it,  and 
keep  her  from  the  new  temptations  to  which  sh6 


<ii  HIGH   NOTIONS. 

should  be  exposed.  She  was  successful.  In  a 
few  months,  she  was  able  to  pay  what  she  had 
borrowed,  and  to  furnish  a  house  for  herself. 

When  her  father's  business  completely  failed, 
and  her  parents  were  thrown  upon  the  world, 
destitute  of  the  means  of  support,  she  was  pre- 
pared to  receive  them  into  her  own  house.  She 
supported  them  by  her  labors  ;  nursed  them  with 
the  utmost  tenderness  in  their  illness ;  attended 
them  in  their  last  sickness,  and  saw  them  die  in 
the  hope  of  glory.  While  they  lived,  she  would 
listen  to  no  proposals  of  marriage ;  but  after 
their  death,  she  became  the  wife  of  Rev.  Dr. 
Milne,  and  accompanied  him  on  his  mission  to 
China,  where  she  was  a  great  solace  and  comfort 
to  him,  and  a  helper  to  him  in  his  labors. 

Learn  not  to  despise  any  useful  employment ; 
but  deem  it  honorable  to  be  able  to  provide  for 
yourself,  and  to  help  others. 


High  Notions. 

A  young  gentleman  became  very  much  inte- 
rested in  the  daughter  of  a  wealthy  farmer,  and 
thought  of  marrying  her  ;  but,  after  a  while,  he 
discovered  that  she  was  wholly  ignorant  of  do- 
mestic affairs.     He  therefore  sought  an  opportu- 


HIGH   NOTIONS.  59 

nity  to  introduce  the  subject  of  domestic  econo- 
my, when  she  declared  her  opinion  that  it  was 
grossly  indelicate  for  a  lady  of  fashionable  edu- 
cation to  be  engaged  in  domestic  concerns.  Just 
then,  her  mother  came  in,  with  her  arms  full  of 
wood  for  the  fire.  Her  reflections  just  before, 
taken  with  this  fact,  would  seem  to  imply  that 
she  regarded  her  motha:  as  a  vulgar  sort  of  a 
woman.  At  any  rate,  it  showed  that  she  was 
unfeeling  enough  to  set  up  for  a  fine  lady,  and 
let  her  mother  do  the  drudgery  of  the  house. 
The  young  man  was  so  disgusted  that  he  never 
visited  her  again.  Some  time  afterwards  she 
married  a  young  merchant,  who  was  doing  a  fair 
business,  and  carried  her  high  notions  into  full 
operation.  With  extravagant  furniture,  nu- 
merous servants,  and  attendant  expenses,  her 
husband's  affairs  became  embarrassed,  and  every 
thing  was  seized  by  his  creditors.  Poor  Zelia 
had  the  mortification  to  return  to  her  father's 
house,  a  victim  to  her  conceits  —  a  useless  and 
unhappv  creature. 


60 


CHAPTER  VI, 


HABITS. 


Heedlessness. 


'OSALINDA  was  pretty,  gen- 
tle, and  amiable.  But  she  had 
one  very  bad  habit.  She  was 
so  heedless  that  she  scarcely 
thought  what  she  said  or  did. 
As  her  father  and  mother  were 
going  out  to  spend  the  evening, 
they  charged  the  children  to  be 
good,  —  to  amuse  themselves,  but 
not  to  be  rude  or  careless,  so  as  to 
do  any  mischief.  The  children 
minded  what  they  said.  They  stud- 
ied their  lessons,  made  no  noise,  and  did 
not  quarrel.  Every  thing  was  in  order, 
and  they  would  have  passed  the  evening 
very  happily,  but  for  Rosalinda's  heed- 
lessness. She  wanted  something  that  was  in  the 
closet  in  her  father's  library,  and  she  took  a 
candle  to  find  it.  Here  she  committed  two  faults. 
She  ought  not  to  have  gone  to  her  father's  library 


A   FIRE.  61 

in  his  absence.  But,  if  she  went,  she  should  not 
have  taken  a  light  to  a  closet,  or  among  her 
father's  papers.  But  this  was  not  her  only  fault. 
After  she  had  got  what  she  wanted,  she  heedless- 
ly left  the  candle  burning  on  her  father's  (Able, 
where  there  was  a  large  heap  of  papers. 

In  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  Rosalinda  smelt 
something  burning,  and,  recollecting  that  she  had 
left  a  light  burning  in  the  study,  immediately  ran 
to  get  it.  She  had  carelessly  set  the  candle  on  a 
bundle  of  papers.  It  had  fallen  over,  and  set  the 
papers  on  lire ;  and,  as  she  opened  the  door,  she 
found  herself  completely  enveloped  in  smoke. 
She  was  affrighted,  and  cried  out  aloud.  Her 
brothers  and  sisters  and  the  servant  ran  to  the 
spot ;  but  none  of  them  had  the  presence  of  mind 
to  pour  some  water  on  the  fire,  which  they  might 
easily  have  done,  and  put  it  out,  if  they  had  shut 
the  door,  so  as  not  to  give  it  air,  till  they  had 
brought  the  water ;  for  as  yet  there  was  nothing 
on  fire  but  the  papers  and  the  table.  But  they 
were  so  frightened  that  they  could  do  nothing  but 
cry  out,  "  The  house  is  on  fire !  0  dear !  O 
dear !  "What  shall  we  do  !  "What  shaU  we  do  ! " 
"While  they  were  thus  lamenting,  the  fire,  having 
burst  into  a  flame  on  the  opening  of  the  door,  had 
spread  to  the  curtains  and  the  drawers,  and  soon 
tiie  whole  room  was  on  fire.  The  neighbors  saw 
6 


68  THREE    GOOD    EULES. 

it,  and  ran  crying  "  Fire  !  "  and  ringing  the  bells. 
The  tumult  was  now  dreadful.  On  all  sides, 
people  were  crying  out,  "  Fire !  fire  !  water ! 
water ! "  "  Here  is  the  fire,"  said  the  neighbors : 
"  we  must  knock  at  this  house."  So  they  broke 
open  the  windows,  and  began  to  play  the  engines 
upon  the  fire.  After  two  hours,  it  was  put  out ; 
but  there  remained  nothing  of  the  house  or  ita 
contents  but  a  heap  of  ruins.  The  children  were 
all  saved ;  but  Rosalinda,  in  the  confusion,  was 
severely  hurt.  The  father  and  mother  now  ar- 
rived ;  but  what  was  their  consternation  to  find 
their  house  reduced  to  ashes,  and  themselves  to 
poverty !  However,  they  were  thankful  that  their 
children  were  all  alive.  All  this  came,  in  the 
first  place,  by  Rosalinda's  heedless  habits.  But, 
after  the  fire  was  discovered,  the  house  might 
have  been  saved  by  a  little  thought.  Leam  from 
this  story, 

1.  To  avoid  heedless,  careless  habits. 

2.  Never  carry  a  light  about  the  house.  It  is 
dangerous  for  children  to  carry  a  light,  especially 
among  papers  or  clothing. 

3.  If  you  open  the  door  of  a  room,  and  find 
that  a  fire  has  caught,  shut  the  door  instantly,  and 
run  for  some  water.  Fire  cannot  spread  rapidly 
without  air ;  and  by  shutting  the  door,  you  may 
keep  it  in  check,  till  it  can  be  put  out.     A  large 


NEATNESS.  63 

family  were  once  thrown  into  consternation,  on 
opening  the  door  of  a  room  where  there  was  a 
fire,  and  the  flames  bursting  out.  The  men  were 
so  frightened  that  they  could  do  nothing.  But 
two  of  the  daughters  shut  the  door,  and  seizing 
each  a  pail,  ran  for  water,  and  dashing  it  into  the 
room,  shut  the  door  again  and  ran  for  more,  till 
in  a  few  minutes  they  put  the  fire  out,  and  saved 
the  house. 

Be  Neat. 

Neatness  must  be  cultivated  in  early  life.  It 
is  hard  to  overcome  any  disorderly  or  dirty  habit, 
which  has  become  confirmed  in  childhood  and 
youth.  But,  if  such  habits  are  indulged  at  this 
period  of  life,  they  will  afterwards  occasion  severe 
mortification.  Fanny  Freeman,  for  some  years, 
dressed"  in  black ;  and  she  fell  into  the  dirty  habit 
of  wiping  the  point  of  her  pen  on  her  black  dress. 
This  habit  became  so  confirmed  that  she  did  not 
mind  when  she  did  it.  One  afternoon,  she  dress- 
ed herself  in  white,  to  go  some  distance  on  a  visit ; 
but,  having  first  to  write  a  letter,  she  carelessly 
wiped  her  pen  as  usual  on  her  dress.  When  the 
carriage  drove  to  the  door,  and  she  was  about  to 
set  her  foot  on  the  step,  her  attention  was  called 
to  her  dress ;  and,  on  looking  down,  she  saw  long 


64  A    CASELESS    GIRL. 

blots  of  ink  crossing  each  other  in  all  directions 
—  a  perfect  fright.  She  blushed  to  the  very 
ears  for  shame  and  mortification,  and  was  obliged 
\  to  go  back  to  her  room,  and  put,  on  a  black 
dress. 


Carelessness. 

"Oh,  dear!"  said  Jane,  as  she  came  home 
from  Sabbath  School,  ""I  cannot  please  my 
teacher  at  all.  1  learn  my  lessons  well,  but  she 
is  never  pleased  with  me." 

Jane  thought  the  fields  looked  so  pleasant,  she 
would  go  across  them  to  school,  and  enjoy  the  walk 
among  grass  and  the  flowers ;  but,  in  doing  so, 
she  tore  her  tippet,  bent  her  bonnet,  slit  her  frock, 
and  stained  the  bottom  all  round  with  the  wet 
grass  and  dirt.  When  she  came  in,  hei*  teacher 
exclaimed,  "  O  Jane !  how  untidy  you  come  to 
school !  I  am  quite  ashamed  of  you."  When 
she  took  her  dkechism,  it  was  all  ovei*  finger 
prints  and  grCTse-spots  ;  for  she  had  used  it  after 
breakfast,  without  washing  her  hands.  "  Oh ! 
what  a  careless  girl ! "  said  her  teacher.  "  What 
a  dirty  book  !  You  have  had  it  but  a  fortnight, 
and  it  is  not  fit  to  touch."  Then,  when  she  came 
to  recite  her  hymns,  the  book  was  handed  to  her 


A   CARELESS    GIKL.  65 

teacher  all  over  dirt.  She  had  dropped  it  in  the 
r«ad,  and  another  girl  had  stepped  on  it.  "  How 
did  this  happen  ?  "  inquired  her  teacher.  "  An- 
other dirty  trick,  I  fear."  Another  book  was 
torn,  one  leaf  quite  out,  and  another  pinned  in, 
wrong  end  upwards.  When  her  teacher  saw 
this,  she  told  her  she  was  one  of  the  most  care- 
less girls  she  ever  saw.  And,  when  she  came  to 
give  little  books  to  her  scholars,  she  told  Jane  it 
was  no  use  to  give  one  to  her ;  for  she  was  so 
careless,  it  would  soon  be  lost  or  torn  to  pieces. 
No  wonder  her  teacher  could  not  be  pleased  with 
her.  No  other  good  traits  will  make  up  for  this 
bad  habit.  A  careless  girl  will  try  the  patience 
of  her  father  and  mother  and  teacher,  and  every 
one  else  that  she  has  any  thing  to  do  with,  and 
her  own  too.  And  it  is  a  habit  for  which  there 
is  no  excuse.  It  is  easier  to  be  tidy  than  care- 
less. "  But  how  is  that  ?  "  you  say.  "  I  find  it 
very  difficult  to  be  tidy;  and  mother  chides  me 
every  day  for  my  carelessness."  Xjnean,  it  is 
easier,  aU  things  considered ;  oj^^^Hhey  say, 
"  in  the  long  run."  You  make  ^^B"  a  great 
deal  of  unnecessary  work  by  your  careless  habits. 
I  dare  say,  if  you  are  a  careless  girl,  fourteen 
years  old,  you  have  spent  more  than  a  month 
hunting  for  your  scissors.  If  you  doutt  this,  use 
a  little  arithmetic,  and  see  if  I  am  not  right. 
A* 


W  AN   UNTIDT   GIRL. 

Do  you  not  spend,  on  an  average,  a  quarter  of 
an  hour  every  day,  hunting  for  your  scissors  ? 
In  six  years,  that  would  be  twenty-four  days. 
And,  suppose  you  have  done  the  same  with 
respect  to  three  other  articles,  you  have  lost  an 
hour  a  day,  just  in  hunting  for  your  things  ;  and 
this,  in  six  years,  would  be  four  months.  All 
this  time  might  be  saved,  if  you  would  be  care- 
ful, when  you  use  any  thing,  to  put  it  in  its  place 
again.  But  this  is  not  all  that  is  lost  by  care- 
lessness. Yoj  destroy  your  books,  tear  your 
clothes,  injure  furniture,  lose  your  own  patience, 
and  your  mother's  approbation.  When  you  take 
all  these  things  into  consideration,  I  think  you 
will  agree  with  me,  that  it  is  cheaper  and  easier 
to  be  tidy  and  careful,  than  it  is  to  be  careless 
and  untidy. 


Another  Example. 


One  fin^^ring  morning,  Laura  Selby  told 
her  motB^^^t  she  had  mastered  her  music 
lesson,  anc^^pP  nothing  to  do  just  then ;  "  and 
now,"  said  she,  "  pray,  be  so  kind  as  to  lay  aside 
your  work,  and  walk  with  me." 

Just  then,  their  attention  was  attracted  by  the 
sound  of  the  piano.  "  Whal  is  that  sound  I  hear, 
my  love  ?  " 


AN    UNTIDY    GIRL.  67 

"  I  dare  say  it  is  little  George,  amusing  him- 
gelf  with  my  piano.  I  forgot  to  shut  it,  when  I 
had  finished  my  lesson." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  that,  my  daughter,  especially 
as  you  have  so  frequently  been  told  to  take  care 
of  your  music.     Go,  without  delay,  and  close  it." 

Laura,  quite  ashamed  at  her  carelessness,  as 
her  piano  had  just  been  put  in  tune,  ran  to  obey 
her  mother,  and  returned,  renewing  her  request 
for  a  walk. 

Her  mother  told  her  that  she  wjvs  going  out, 
and  would  take  her  with  her,  if  she  could  make 
herself  ready  without  delay..  Laura  was  de- 
lighted, and  ran  quickly  to  tie  on  her  bonnet  and 
^hawl.  She  was  gone  longer  than  seemed  neces- 
sary. Her  mother  was  obliged  to  call  twice, 
before  she  made  her  appearance,  and  was  about 
proceeding  without  her,  when  she  ran  hastily 
through  the  hall.  "  My  love,"  said  Mrs.  Selby, 
"  this  is  not  doing  as  you  ought." 

"  Mother,"  said  Laura,  blushing,  "  I  could  not 
find  my  ^hawl  for  a  good  while  j^and  then  I 
hunted  son;i,e  time  for  my  pin."      ^W^ 

"  But  wh^re  did  you  put  your  shawl,  that  it 
could  not  be  found?" 

"  I  left  it  on  a  chair  in  the  ha,H,  -yYtere  I  sat 
down  a  moment,  when  I  ca,me  in  yesterdav,  anci 
forgot  \Q  put  it  in  ix^y  drawer." 


W  THE    TORJS    GLOVE. 

"'  I  am  grieved,  Laura,  to  find  this  unfortunate 
habit  of  carelessness  strengthening,  rather  than 
disappearing." 

Laura  felt  ashamed  and  unhappy.  When 
Mrs.  S.  had  done  shopping,  they  called  on  Mrs. 
EUenwood,  and  Laura  was  very  happy  to  find 
Grace  at  home ;  for  it  was  to  see  her  that  she 
had  desired  to  walk.  The  girls  were  chatting 
together  in  fine  spirits,  when  Mrs.  EUenwood, 
with  a  look  of  pity,  inquired  what  was  the  matter 
with  Laura's  hand,  which  was  wrapt  in  her  hand- 
kerchief. "  Laura  has  not  injured  her  hand,  I 
believe,"  said  her  mother.  "  Pray,  my  dear, 
why  have  you  twisted  your  handkerchief  over 
it?" 

Laura  slowly  unrolled  her  handkerchief,  and, 
exhibited  a  torn  glove.  "  My  dear,"  said  her 
mother,  "  we  must  be  on  our  way  home ;  you 
have  employment  there,  I  believe." 

Mrs.  EUenwood  urged  Mrs.  S.  to  let  Laura 
stay  and  spend  the  day  with  Grace,  which  was 
what  she  -aanted  to  do ;  but  her  mother  would 
not  consent,wie  was  so  displeased  with  Laura's 
negligence.  Laura  was  sadly  mortified ;  and, 
when  they  got  into  the  street,  she  could  not  re- 
frain from  tears.  When  they  arrived  at  home, 
!Mrs.  S-  asked  Laura  why  she  went  out  with  her 
gloves  in  that  condition. 


UNTIDINESS.  q9 

"  Because,"  said  Laura,  "  the  last  time  I  wore 
them,  I  made  several  holes  in  them,  and  —  and 
—  I  forgot  to  mend  them." 

"  That  is  the  very  thing,  my  dear,  for  which 
you  deserve  to  be  reprimanded.  Forgetfulness 
of  such  duty  arises  from  carelessness.  If  you 
exhibit  yourself  every  day,  with  some  part  of 
your  dress  out  of  order,  your  habits  of  careless- 
ness will  be  confirmed,  and  your  character,  as  an 
untidy  young  lady,  quite  established.  I  am  par- 
ticularly mortified  with  your  appearance  to-day, 
and  recommend  that  you  spend  the  remainder  of 
it  in  repairing  your  clothes." 

There  is,  perhaps,  no  other  habit  which  inter- 
feres so  much  with  a  girl's  happiness,  and  con- 
tributes so  much  to  spoil  her  temper,  as  careless- 
ness. A  mother  does  not  take  delight  in  chiding 
her  girls ;  but  how  can  she  help  it,  if  they  are 
careless?  The  snail,  as  it  crawls  along  on  the 
earth,  leaves  a  track  behind  it ;  and  so  does  an 
untidy  girl.  Her  things  are  always  out  of  place ; 
and  not  only  her  own  things,  but  every  thing 
else  that  she  touches.  She  forgets  to  put  any 
thing  in  its  place.  Her  clothes  are  disordered  ; 
and  if  there  is  a  rent  anywhere  in  her  wardrobe, 
she  forgets  to  mend  it  till  the  moment  it  is  want- 
ed. And  these  things  are  so  continually  occur- 
ring, that  her  mother  is  obliged  to  spend  half  her 


^  A   DANGEEOUS   HABIT. 

breath  in  fruitless  efforts  to  correct  this  disagree- 
able habit  Thus,  her  own  temper  is  fretted  and 
injured,  not  only  by  the  inconvenience  to  which 
she  is  subjected  by  her  own  carelessness,  but  by 
the  constant  displeasure  of  her  mother.  This 
will  be  tenfold  worse  if  she  lives  to  have  a 
family  of  her  own.  —  If  you  would  have  it  sun 
shine  about  you,  be  neat  and  tidy. 

s 
Reading  in  the  Night. 

Girls  sometimes  contract  the  habit  of  reading 
in  bed,  with  a  lamp  by  their  side  ;  or  of  sitting 
up  late,  to  read,  after  they  have  retired  to  theii 
rooms.  Either  of  these  practices  is  both  inju- 
rious and  dangerous.  It  is  a  good  thing  to  have 
a  taste  for  reading ;  but  the  day,  in  summer,  and 
the  day  and  early  part  of  the  evening,  in  winter, 
are  long  enough  to  do  every  thing  that  needs  to 
be  done.  "  The  night  cometh,  when  no  man  can 
work,"  The  night  is  for  rest  and  repose.  No 
one  can  safely  encroach  upon  it.  The  habit,  of 
which  we  are  speaking,  has  ruined  the  eyes  of 
many  a  girl  for  life  ;  and  in  many  instances,  she 
has  dropped  asleep,  and  left  her  light  burning, 
which  has  caught  the  bed-clothes  or  the  furni- 
ture of  the  room,  and  set  the  house  on  fire. 


ANOTHER    FIRE.  71 

Tirzah  Locke  had  acquired  this  dangerous 
habit.  There  was  nothing  she  loved  so  well  to 
do,  as  to  sit  up  late  at  night  to  read,  after  all 
others  in  the  house  had  retired  to  rest.  She 
would  undress,  and  put  on  her  night-clothes,  wrap 
a  large  blanket  round  her,  and  recline  herself,  in 
the  most  comfortable  position,  in  a  large  easy 
chair,  by  the  side  of  the  table,  which  held  her 
lamp ;  and  there  she  would  sit  and  read,  perhaps 
half  the  night.  Two  or  three  times  she  fell 
asleep  there,  and  slept  till  morning,  when  she 
found  her  lamp  still  burning,  or  the  oil  burnt  out. 
One  night,  Mr.  WiUiams,  with  whom  she  lived, 
was  called  up  to  prepare  some  medicine  for  his 
wife ;  and,  as  he  opened  the  door,  he  thought  he 
perceived  a  smoke.  He  went  up  stairs  and 
opened  the  door  where  his  daughters  slept,  and 
one  or  two  other  doors,  when  he  hastened  to  Tir 
zah's  room.  The  smoke  rushed  out,  so  that  h^ 
was  obliged  to  step  back  to  get  his  breath.  But, 
in  a  moment,  he  returned  and  opened  the  win- 
dow. The  smoke  was  so  thick  that  he  thought 
Tirzah  could  not  live  there  long ;  and  he  went  to 
the  bed,  but  she  was  not  there.  At  that  moment 
there  was  a  blaze  near  the  table,  which  discovered 
her,  lying  in  the  large  chair,  surrounded  by 
flames,  and  apparently  suffocated.  Mr.  Williams 
caught  her  in  his  arms,  and  carried  her  down 


n  tirzah's  blindness. 

stairs.  The  family  were  roused,  and  with  some 
difficulty  the  fire  was  put  out.  On  searching  for 
the  cause,  it  appeared  that  Tirzah  had  fallen 
asleep  while  reading,  and,  in  her  sleep,  had  thrown 
out  her  arms  towards  the  light,  with  the  book  in 
her  left  hand  ;  for  the  book,  which  was  a  beauti- 
ful annual  that  had  been  given  her  by  her  mother, 
was  nearly  consumed.  There  was  a  large  place 
burnt  in  the  top  of  the  table,  a  small  place  in  the 
floor,  and  the  whole  covering  of  the  chair.  Tir- 
zah was  stifled,  almost  beyond  recovery  ;  and  it 
was  a  long  time  before  she  could  be  revived. 
Then  she  was  almost  delirious,  in  view  of  the 
consequences  of  her  carelessness,  and  her  narrow 
escape.     She  was  sick  a  number  of  days. 

Some  years  after,  she  sat  in  an  open  window, 
with  a  fan  and  a  glass  in  one  hand,  and  the  other 
moving  cautiously  over  the  branch  of  a  rose- 
bush, which  grew  so  near  the  window  as  to  enter 
the  room,  when  the  window  was  raised.  She 
had  just  been  trying  to  distinguish  the  colors  of 
some  flowers  ;  but  they  seemed  to  be  all  blended 
and  indistinct.  The  habit,  which  she  indulged 
while  a  girl,  of  reading  late  at  night,  though  she 
perceived  no  ill  effects  at  the  time,  had  ruined 
her  sight ;  and  she  was  destined  to  spend  the  re- 
mainder of  her  days  in  almost  total  darkness. 


A.   8TEANGE    OBJECT.  73 


Drinking  Wine. 

At  a  temperance  meeting,  some  years  ago,  an 
address  was  made  by  Rev.  Albert  Barnes,  in 
which  he  showed  that  alchohol  is  formed  by  fer- 
mentatiop ;  so  that  it  exists  in  wine,  cider,  and 
beer,  along  with  other  matter.  But,  to  fonn  ar- 
dent spirits,  it  is  separated  and  thrown  off  by 
heat.  After  the  address  was  finished,  a  gentle- 
man rose  and  said  he  wished  to  say  a  word  or 
iwo  to  a  lady,  who  had  refused  to  sign  the  pledge ; 
giving  as  a  reason,  that  she  now  and  then  loved 
to  take  a  little  wine.  It  has  been  shown,  said 
te,  that,  when  a  little  wine,  or  a  little  beer,  or  a 
little  cider,  is  exposed  to  heat,  the  alcohol  is 
thrown  off.  This  is  called  distillation.  Now, 
when  the  lady  takes  a  little  wine  into  the  warm 
stomach,  the  alcohol  is  thrown  off  through  "  the 
worm  of  the  still ;"  up  it  flies  into  the  brain,  and 
if  it  does  not  blow  off  the  cap,  it  may  play  mis- 
chief there  not  very  creditable.  Every  time, 
therefore,  that  a  lady  takes  a  little  wine,  or  a 
a  little  cider,  or  a  little  '-/cer,  she  is  converted  into 
a  distillery!  I  think  my  readers  will  resolve 
never  to  taste  a  drop  of  intoxicating  liquors,  lest 
they  should,  unfortunately,  be  turned  into  such  a 
loathsome  object. 
7 


'f$  DANQEROnS   HABIT. 


Putting  Pins  in  tjie  Mouth. 

It  is  a  very  dangerous  habit  to  carry  pins  in 
the  mouth.  A  servant  girl,  in  the  town  of  Gore, 
Upper  Canada,  some  years  ago,  in  taking  down 
some  clothes  that  were  pinned  on  a  line,  put  the 
pins  in  her  mouth ;  several  of  which  she  acci- 
dentally swallowed.  One  of  them  stuck  in  her 
throat,  and  the  pain,  occasioned  by  the  surgeon 
in  removing  it,  threw  her  into  convulsions.  But 
the  pins  which  she  had  swallowed  occasioned 
terrible  pains  in  her  stomach  and  bowels  and 
made  her  very  sick,  so  it  was  thought  she  could 
not  live. 

■  Dr.  Johnson's  Idea  of  Elegance  in  Dress. 

Dr.  Johnson,*  speaking  of  a  lady  who  was 
celebrated  for  dressing  well,  remarked,    "  The 

*  Samuex.  Johnson,  LL.D.,  one  of  the  greatest  literary 
characters  of  the  18th  century,  author  of  a  dictionary  that 
has  done  more,  perhaps,  than  any  other  to  settle  the 
English  language.  He  was  a  man  of  taste,  a  poet,  and  a 
moralist  He  wrote  some  of  the  finest  productions  which 
our  language  affords.  He  was  the  son  of  a  bookseller, 
bom  at  Litchfield,  in  1709.  [See  frontispiece.]  He  was 
educated  at  Oxford,  and  lived  mostly  in  London.  He  died, 
a  Christian,  in  1784. 


DEES3.  75 

best  fividence  that  I  can  give  you  of  her  perfec- 
tion in  this  respect  is,  tlutt  one  can  never  remem- 
ber what  she  had  oh."  Delicacy  of  feeling  in  a 
lady,  will  prevent  her  putting  on  any  thing  cal- 
culated to  attract  notice ;  and  yet,  a  female  of 
good  taste  will  dress  so  as  to  have  every  part  of 
her  dress  correspond.  Thus,  while  she  avoids 
what  is  showy  and  attractive,  every  thing  will  be 
adjusted  so  as  to  exhibit  symmetry  and  taste. 


Fondness  for  Dress. 

Emma  returned  from  a  visit  to  her  uncle's, 
vexed  and  unhappy.  Her  father,  perceiving  it, 
invited  her  to  take  a  walk  with  him.  On  their 
way,  they  passed  the  shop  of  a  fashionable  dress- 
maker, when  Emma  exclaimed,  "  This  is  where 
Aunt  purchased  Maria's  new  pelisse,  father. 
You  cannot  think  what  a  contrast  there  was  in 
hers  and  mine.  One  looked  so  nicely,  and  the 
other  so  old  fashioned  and  shabby,  I  was  ashamed 
to  walk  with  her."  "  I  am  very  sorry  for  that," 
said  her  father.  "  Yet,  if  you  had  not  told  me, 
I  should  not  have  discovered  any  thing  so  mean 
in  your  pelisse.  However,  since  wearing  it  ex- 
poses you  to  so  serious  a  mortification,  I  will 
make  you  a  present  of  a  ne  fv  pelisse  like  Maria's, 


t6 


APmO   OTHERS. 


if  your  mother  has  no  objection."  Emma  thank- 
ed him  heartily,  and  her  good  humor  returned. 

The  object  of  the  walk,  was  to  visit  a  little 
girl,  belonging  to  the  Sabbath  School,  who  had 
been  absent  several  weeks  from  sickness.  They 
found  her  pale,  emaciated,  and  dejected,  sitting, 
in  a  cold  day,  by  a  few  dying  coals  in  the  grate. 
She  was  just  recovering  from  a  violent  fever. 

"  Where  is  your  mother,  my  good  girl  ?  "  in- 
quired Emma's  father.  The  little  girl  told  him 
that  her  father's  wagea  were  insufficient  to  sup- 
port the  family,  and  her  mother  had  lost  much 
time  in  taking  care  of  her.  She  was  gone  out 
to  work,  to  get  something  for  her  and  sir  other 
little  children  to  eat. 

By  this  time,  Emma's  face  was  suffused  with 
tears ;  and  as  they  went  out,  she  entreated  her 
father  to  send  some  coals  to  keep  them  warm, 
and  some  food  for  them  to  eat.  But  he  told  her 
that  he  could  not  afford  it ;  for  her  pelisse  would 
cost  as  much  as  they  could  spare  for  a  long  time 
to  come.  "Forgive  me,  my  dear  father,"  sh» 
said,  "  and  since  vanity  can  only  be  gratified  by 
such  cruel  selfishness  as  this,  I  hope  I  shall  never 
again  be  ashamed,  if  my  clothes  are  not  so  ex- 
pensive or  fashionable  as  Maria's."  Nothing  is 
more  foolish  than  to  ape  others  in  dress.  If  you 
see  some  that  can  dress  better  than  yourself,  you 


USING    THE    EXES.  77 

may  easily  find  others  who  cannot  dress  so  well. 
This  will  cure  your  vanity. 

Eyes  and  no  eyes. 

Every  thing  in  nature  is  beautiful.  God  de- 
lights in  beauty ;  and  he  has  made  every  thing 
full  of  it.  But  many  things  are  so  nicely  formed 
that  one  who  only  looks  carelessly  around,  will  not 
see  their  beauty.  The  consequence  is,  some  peo- 
ple go  moping  through  life,  seldom  seeing  any 
thing  to  admire ;  while  others  never  behold  the 
face  of  nature  without  being  enraptured  with  the 
beauty  of  God's  works. 

A  little  girl,  named  Mary,  whose  parents  lived 
in  the  city,  was  spending  the  summer  with  hei 
aunt  in  the  country,  and  going  to  school  with  hei 
cousin  Helen.  One  morning,  Mary  began  to 
wish  herself  back  in  the  city,  and  to  complain 
that  there  was  nothing  to  be  seen  or  heard  in  the 
country.  Helen  felt  a  Uttle  disturbed  at  this  ; 
and  the  two  cousins  were  on  the  point  of  a  serious 
difference,  when  they  were  joined  by  Helen's 
sister  Lucy,  five  years  older  than  they,  who  pro 
posed  to  accompany  them  to  school.  The  littl»i 
girls  recovered  their  temper  in  a  moment,  sub 
dued  by  the  sweet  tones  of  Lucy's  voice,  who  was 
a  kind-hearted  sister,  and  who  took  delight  xli 
7* 


78*  A    RAMBLE. 

making  the  younger  ones  happy.  She  had  over- 
heard their  conversation;  and  her  object  was 
to  show  Mary  that  the  country  was  full  of  beauty, 
if  she  would  but  open  her  eyes  to  see  it. 

"  Stop  a  moment,"  said  Helen,  as  they  were  in 
the  court-yard,  "  I  must  make  up  a  bouquet  for 
the  school-mistress." 

"And  so  will  I,  too,"  said  Mary.  So  they 
gathered  white  and  red  roses,  and  pinks,  and 
convolvulus,  and  Lucy  gave  them  some  sprigs 
from  geraniums  which  were  standing  in  pots, 
and  they  each  formed  a  pretty  little  bouquet. 
*'  Do  you  go  directly  to  school .'' "  inquired  Lucy. 

"  0 !  no.  My  aunt  sends  us  off  three  quarters 
of  an  hour  before  school-time,  which  she  wishes 
us  to  spend  in  the  open  air ;  but  I  am  sure  ten 
minutes  would  be  enough ;  there  is  nothing  to  be 
Keen  but  those  dingy  old  rocks ;  and  I  am  tired 
Qf  them." 

They  were  just  then  going  past  a  little  clump 
of  bushes.  "  What  is  that  fluttering  and  chirp- 
ing ?  "  said  Lucy. 

The  children  went  up  on  tiptoe,  and  peered 
intp  the  bushes.  They  saw  a  dear  little  robin's 
nest,  with  three  smooth  spotted  eggs,  lying  in  the 
bottom  of  it.  '?  Oh  how  pretty,"  said  Helen,  "  but 
we  won't  touch  them,  wiU  we,  Mary  ?  we  will  just 
l«ke  a  peep  at  them,  and  then  twine  the  branches 


BEAUTIFUL    THINGS.  79 

together,  so  that  the  boys  shall  not  see  it ;  and  we 
will  bring  some  crumbs  for  the  robin  every  day, 
and  some  cherries,  won't  we,  Mary  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Mary.  "  I  'U  leave  part  of  my 
biscuit  now ;"  and  she  crumbled  a  little  piece  on 
the  grass  under  the  nest.  We  wiU  call  this  our 
robin,  and  this  shall  be  our  robin's  nest ;  and  we 
won't  let  any  body  touch  it,  nor  come  near  it,  till 
the  little  birds  are  out  of  the  shell,  and  have 
learned  to  fly." 

Presently,  they  came  to  a  low  bridge  which 
crossed  a  pretty  brook.  Lucy  stepped  on  the 
bridge.  "  Pray,  Lucy,  what  are  you  looking  at  ?  " 
inquired  Mary. 

"  I  am  seeing  how  bright  the  golden  sands  look 
in  the  bottom  of  the  brook ;  and  how  prettily  the 
lights  and  shadows  crinkle  through  the  water. 
And  see  what  a  quantity  of  pretty  flowers  grow 
on  its  margin.  I  wish  I  had  some  of  them." 
The  two  little  girls  ran  down  the  bank,  and  gath- 
ered each  a  handful  of  iris  and  cardinal  flowers, 
and  Lucy  made  a  bouquet  which  they  declared 
to  be  prettier  than  those  they  had  brought  from 
the  garden.     They  walked  on. 

"  What  a  beautiful  pile  of  rocks  that  is  before 
us,"  said  Lucy.  "How  prettily  the  sides  are 
stained  with  lilac  and  green  and  brown,  and  what 
a  fantastic  old  pine  tree  that  is  on  the  top.    What 


80  DRAWING   FROM   NATURE. 

a  nice  picture  it  would  make.  I  wish  jou  would 
lend  me  your  porcelain  slate  and  pencil  for  a  few 
minutes,  Mary,"  Mary  took  them  from  her 
straw  school-basket,  and  Lucy  sat  do^v^^  upon  a 
bank,  and  began  to  sketch  the  pile  of  rocks.  As 
she  did  so,  she  gave  a  kind  of  playful  lecture  on 
drawing,  to  the  little  girls. 

"  I  must  begin,"  said  she,  "with  a  line  for  the 
bottom  of  the  rocks,  not  straight,  because  they  go 
up  and  down,  here  and  there.  Now,  I  observe 
that  the  pile  of  rocks  is  about  half  as  high  as  it  is 
broad ;  and  here  is  a  sharp  point,  and  there  is  a 
round  outline.  Here  is  a  monstrous  crevice,  and 
there  is  a  great  crack ;  and  here  is  a  queer,  one- 
sided stone  with  some  bushes  growing  round  it ; 
and  on  the  very  top  is  the  old  pine  tree,  with  its 
rough  trunk  and  scare-crow  branches.  Here  a 
line  and  there  a  dot ;  and  now  for  the  shading ; 
the  straight  lines,  and  the  cross  lines,  and  the 
zigzag  lines.  Here  it  must  be  left  light,  for  the 
sun  shines  brightly  upon  it ;  and  there  it  must  be 
dark,  for  it  is  in  shadow ;  and  those  great  cracks 
must  be  almost  black  ;  and  T  ratxst  not  forget  the 
little  tufts  of  grass  and  flowers  springing  up  here 
and  there.     Now,  how  do  you  like  my  picture  ?  " 

Helen  thought  it  was  pretty,  but  Mary  was  in 
an  ecstacy.  It  seemed  to  her  like  magic.  "  O  ! 
how  I  should  like  to  draw  from  nature ;  and  how 


A   8QUIEEEL.  81 

pretty  these  rocks  look  to  me  now.  Do  let  me 
try  to  draw  them." 

Lucy  advised  her  to  begin  with  a  single  stone, 
or  bush,  or  flower.  "  Try  that  little  crooked  tree." 
Mary  looked  at  it  very  attentively,  and  then  she 
tried  to  draw  it.  She  got  the  trunk  and  branches 
very  well,  but  when  she  came  to  the  foliage  it 
looked  stiff  and  unnatural.  "  My  branches  look 
just  like  cabbage-heads,"  said  she.  Lucy  took 
her  pencil,  and  showed  her  on  the  corner  of  her 
slate  just  the  kind  of  lines  she  ought  to  make,  and 
after  that,  she  succeeded  admirably.  She  really 
made  a  very  pretty  little  tree.  She  could  not  ex- 
press her  pleasure  at  her  own  success.  "  Mother 
always  said  I  had  a  genius  for  drawing ;  and  now 
I  intend  to  draw  something  every  day,  and  you 
shall  tell  me  what  is  wrong."  Lucy  promised 
she  would ;  and  then  they  went  on. 

The  school-house  stood  just  the  other  side  of 
a  little  wood,  which  they  had  to  pass  through. 
When  they  had  got  about  half  way  through  the 
wood,  they  saw  a  grey  squirrel  run  up  the  trunk 
of  a  tree,  and  seat  himself  on  one  of  the  lower 
branches.  "  0 !  what  a  pretty  creature.  I  won- 
der if  he  would  run  away  if  we  were  to  go  nearer. 
Let  us  try."  So  they  stepped  carefully  over  the 
grass  and  leaves,  until  they  got  near  the  squirrel, 
which  seemed  quite  tame,  and  peered  at  them  very 


'  82  MUSIC. 

knowingly  out  of  his  little  grey  eyes,  as  he  sal 
gnawing  at  an  acorn.  "  Only  see  his  little,  sharp 
teeth ! "  said  Mary,  "  and  how  cunning  he  looks 
sitting  there,  with  his  broad  flat  tail  rising  up  on 
his  head  like  a  feather.  He  seems  to  be  a  happy 
little  creature.     Don't  you  think  he  is,  Lucy  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Lucy ; "  and  every  nook  and  corner 
of  the  woods  and  fields  is  full  of  innocent  httle 
creatures,  which  a  kind  Providence  has  made  to 
live  and  be  happy." 

"  I  never  saw  them,"  said  Mary  ;  "  where  are 
they  ?     I  can  see  nothing  now  but  this  squirrel." 

"  Listen,"  said  Lucy.   "  Do  you  hear  nothing  ?  " 

"  I  hear  some  birds  singing.  Oh !  I  forgot  the 
birds.  Yes,  there  are  plenty  of  them,  and  happy 
enough  they  are." 

"  Can  you  hear  nothing  else  ?  " 

"  Nothing  but  a  confused  sound,  as  if  a  thou- 
sand crickets  and  catydids  and  grasshoppers  were 
singing  together."  , 

"  Which  in  truth  they  are.  They  are  on  every 
side  of  you,  and  under  your  feet,  singing  away  as 
merrily  as  can  be.  But  do  you  hear  nothing 
else  ?  " 

"I  hear  the  bleating  of  lambs,"  said  Helen^ 
and  the  peeping  of  frogs,  from  yonder  brook.  — 
Let  us  go  to  the  brook."  They  did  so;  and, 
looking  attentively  into  the  deepest  places,  they 


FISHES.  83 

Baw  that  it  was  filled  with  pretty  little  fishes, 
darting  and  playing  about. 

"  Oh  !  how  pretty,"  said  Mary ;  and  how  happy 
they  seem  to  be,  too,  although  they  do  not  make 
a  noise.  —  But  what  is  that  ?  Is  it  possible  that 
it  is  the  school-bell  ?  We  must  run.  Good  bye, 
dear  Lucy,  kind  Lucy,  sweet  Lucy  ;  good  bye."  " 

The  next  morning  the  girls  did  not  wait  to  b? 
urged  ofi"  to  school,  they  were  ready  ten  minutes 
before  the  time ;  for,  as  Mary  said,  she  longed  to 
Bee  if  the  little  robin's  nest  was  safe ;  and  she 
wished  very  much  to  try  a- little  comer  of  the 
clump  of  rocks;  and  to  gather  some  cardinal 
flowers  and  iris.  "  And  then,  you  know,  Helen, 
we  are  to  look  for  the  squirrel,  and  carry  him 
some  nuts.  And  I  want  to  find  a  catydid,  which 
my  aunt  says  is  such  a  curious  creature.  And  I 
wish  to  take  another  peep  at  the  fishes,  to  see  if 
there  are  any  like  those  in  the  book  that  Lucy 
showed  us  last  evening.  I  really  do  not  think 
we  shall  ever  find  the  walk  to  school  dull  again." 
The  reason  of  this  change  was,  that  Mary  had 
just  opened  her  eyes,  while  before  she  kept  them 
tJiiU. 


84 


CHAPTER  VII. 

GOVEENMENT    OF    THE    TONGUE. 

The   Washerwoman. 

.CARCELY  is  there  a  habit 
of  more  mischievous  tendency 
than  tattling.  It  is  a  vice  to 
which  females  have  peculiar 
temptations ;  and  it  is  general- 
ly supposed  to  prevail  more 
among  them  than  among  the 
other  sex.  But,  whether  this 
be  true  or  not,  we  have  an  example 
of  a  woman  in  humble  life,  which 
shows  that  a  woman  can  govern  her 
tongue.  In  a  small  town  there  lived 
a  woman,  who  supported  herself  more 
than  forty  years  by  washing  for  people 
at  their  houses ;  and  all  this  time,  she 
was  never  known  to  repeat  in  one  house 
what  was  said  in  another.  It  is  hardly  necessary 
to  say  that  she  gave  perfect  satisfaction  to  her 
employers.  In  several  instances,  she  was  em- 
ployed for  the  whole  forty  years  in  the  same 
families.     This  example  is  worthy  the  imitation 


TALE-BEARING.  85 

of  all ;  but  especially  of  those  who  are  employed, 
as  many  young  females  are  in  this  country,  in 
dress-making,  house-work,  or  other  services,  in 
different  families  in  the  same  neighborhood.  It 
is  in  their  power  to  do  great  mischief;  and  they 
have  a  strong  temptation  to  it.  But  they  have, 
also,  a  good  opportunity  to  learn  the  very  difficult 
art  of  governing  the  tongue. 


Jenny  Jenkins. 

A  tale-bearer  is  always  despised  by  the  whole 
neighborhood.  Solomon  says,  "  Where  no  wood 
is,  the  fire  goeth  out ;  and  where  no  tale-bearer  is, 
strife  ceaseth."  One  tale-bearer  can  easily  set 
a  whole  village  on  fire.  And  yet,  though  it  does 
so  much  mischief,  and  destroys  their  own  reputa- 
tion, many  girls  love  to  tell  tales,  as  well  as  they 
love  to  eat  cakes  and  sweetmeats.  Jenny  Jenkins 
was  a  sad  tattler.  Every  thing  she  heard,  she 
told  over  and  over  again,  without  giving  herself 
the  least  trouble  in  the  world  to  find  out  whether 
it  was  true  or  not.  Indeed,  she  often  added  to 
the  story;  for  tale-bearers  are  rarely  satisfied 
with  the  plain  unvarnished  truth. 


8 


86  WHISPERERS. 


Whisperers. 

"  A  whisperer  separateth  chief  friends."  Prov. 
16:28. 

A  whisperer  is  one  who  slily  insinuates  things 
to  the  disadvantage  of  others ;  who  tells  tales 
secretly,  and  charges  those  to  whom  she  pretends 
to  be  revealing  secrets,  to  tell  nobody.  But  very 
likely,  the  next  person  she  meets  will  hear  the 
same  story,  perhaps  with  a  little  more  exaggera- 
tion, and  accompanied  with  the  same  charge  not 
to  tell  any  body.  Thus,  in  a  few  hours,  the  whole 
village  will  have  the  news,  under  strict  injunc- 
tions of  secresy.  But,  often  this  gossiping,  tattling 
habit  is  accompanied  with  a  malicious  disposition ; 
and  then,  look  out  for  mischief.  It  was  of  such 
a  one  that  Solomon  was  speaking,  when  he  said, 
"  A  whisperer  separateth  chief  friends." 

Mary  and  Nancy  Worthley  had  two  cousins, 
Jane  and  Eliza  Mason,  who  lived  very  near,  and 
with  whom  they  were  very  intimate.  They  loved 
each  other  as  much  as  if  they  had  been  sisters. 
After  some  time,  however,  Mrs.  Worthley  observed 
that  Mary  did  not  seem  so  glad  as  usual  when 
Jane  and  Eliza  came  to  see  her  ;  and  she  did  not 
so  often  ask  leave  to  go  and  visit  them.  Even 
little  Nancy's  eyes  did  not  now  sparkle  as  they 
used  to,  at  the  thought  of  going  to  Col.  Mason's. 


WHISPERERS.  87 

One  afternoon,  Mrs.  Worthley  went  away,  and 
left  Mary  to  entertain  a  company  of  her  young 
friends.  Among  these  were  her  two  cousins. 
"When  Mrs.  Worthley  returned  home,  the  com- 
pany were  gone,  and  Mary  and  Nancy  appeared 
vexed  and  unhappy.  "O  motlier,"  said  Mary, 
*'  I  wish  Jane  and  Eliza  would  never  come  here 
again,  and  that  you  would  never  send  me  to  their 
house."  "  What !  my  love,  your  dear  cousins  ?  " 
"  I  don't  want  to  call  them  cousins  any  more. 
They  have  spoiled  our  visit  this  afternoon." 
"  What  have  they  done,  my  daughter  ?  "  "  Why, 
we  talked  about  some  old  affairs,  and  Sarah  Por- 
ter and  I  told  them  how  naughty  they  had  been ; 
but  they  said  it  was  not  so,  and  were  displeased, 
and  cried  about  it,  and  made  us  all  unhappy." 

"  But  what  are  the  old  affairs,  that  make  them 
such  naughty  girls  ? "  inquired  Mrs.  Worthley. 
"  You  do  not  tell  me  what  wicked  things  your 
cousins  have  done." 

"  O,  mother,  they  have  not  loved  me  this  good 
while,  because  I  was  a  better  scholar  at  school 
than  they ;  so  they  would  go  and  tell  tales  about 
me  to  their  mother  and  all  the  girls.  They 
always  laugh,  too,  about  my  dress,  and  make  game 
of  my  looks  and  words.  When  they  come  liere, 
it  is  only  to  get  something  to  talk  about,  and  to 
make  themselves  merry  with.    I  an!  sure  I  never 


t88  WHISPERERS. 

shall  go  to  their  house  any  more ;  and  Sarah  and 
Dolly  Porter  shall  be  my  cousins. 

"  But,  my  daughter,  how  do  you  know  that 
your  cousins  have  been  so  wicked  ?  Have  you 
ever  seen  any  such  actions  in  them  yourself  ?  " 

"  O,  no  ;  they  are  very  kind  to  my  face,  and 
profess  as  much  friendship  as  ever ;  but  that  only 
shows  that  they  are  artful,  and  put  on  a  fair  show 
to  deceive  me  the  easier." 

"  How,  then,  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  O,  Sarah  Porter  has  told  me  about  it  a  great 
many  times.  She  has  been  so  kind  as  to  watch 
their  conduct  towards  me,  and  let  me  know  about 
it,  or  I  might  never  have  found  it  out" 

"  Could  not  any  of  the  other  girls  in  the  neigh- 
borhood have  told  you  ?  Have  they  not  seen 
some  of  these  misdeeds  ?  " 

(^Hesitatingly.)  "  I  do  not  know  that  any  of 
them  have," 

"  Have  none  of  them  ever  spoken  to  you  about 
it  ?  Has  not  Dolly  Porter  confirmed  her  sister's 
story  ?  " 

«  No  ma'am." 

"  What,  then,  did  all  the  girls  say,  when  you 
told  your  cousins  of  their  wickedness  so  plainly  ?  " 

"  At  first,  we  didn't  let  them  hear  what  we  said 
to  Eliza  and  Jane.  But  they  found  out  some- 
thing was  tlite  matter ;  and  when  we  told  them, 
they  would  not  believe  a  word  of  it." 


WHISPEREKS.  8tf 

"  So,  then,  nobodj  knew  any  thing  against 
them  but  you  and  Sarah." 

"  Nobody  but  Sarah.  I  know  nothing  but 
what  she  has  told  me." 

"  But  how  could  you  and  Sarah  maintain  your 
ground  against  the  whole  company,  and  against 
the  two  girls,  who  protested  that  they  were  in- 
nocent ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  only  that  Sarah  talked  very 
fast  and  loud,  and  kept  all  in  confusion  till  they 
went  away." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say,  my  daughter,  that  Sarah 
Porter  has  accused  your  cousins  falsely,  and  that 
you  have  been  duped  by  her  stories,  till  you  have 
treated  your  best  friends  very  ill  indeed.  Your 
suspicions  of  lEliza  and  Jane  must  be  groundless. 
If  they  had  long  done  as  Sarah  says,  you  would 
have  seen  it  yourself,  and  I  should  have  noticed  it 
long  ago ;  and  so  would  the  rest  of  your  play- 
mates. But  it  seems  that  every  body  has  been 
blind  and  deaf  except  the  dear  and  friendly  IVIisa 
Sarah.  Not  even  her  own  sister  will  believe  that 
your  cousins  are  guilty.  All  this  looks  very 
much  as  if  Sarah  was  the  guilty  one,  and  had 
made  up  false  reports,  to  do  mischief.  I  will  tell 
you,  Mary,  what  I  have  seen.  I  have  observed 
that  you  did  not  treat  your  cousins  so  kindly  as 
you  had  done,  and  that  they  appeared  grieved 
8* 


90  WHISPERERS. 

and  distant,  of  course  ;  while  I  have  had  no  sus- 
picion of  their  being  envious  or  disposed  to  talk 
against  you.  I  have  seen,  also,  that  Sarah  Porter 
is  apt  to  talk  about  other  people,  and  I  have 
feared  that  she  indulged  in  idle  gossip  and  talc- 
bearing." 

"  O,  I  see  it  now,  mother.  This  is  the  work 
of  poor  Sarah,  alone.  She  told  some  things  first 
as  a  great  secret,  that  made  me  suspicious  of  my 
cousins,  and  ready  to  listen  to  her  again.  Since 
that  time,  when  I  have  seen  her,  she  has  done 
nothing  but  whisper,  whisper,  whisper  about  Eliza 
and  Jane,  till  she  has  made  me  believe  almost 
any  thing.  I  have  not  a  doubt  they  are  innocent. 
I  will  go  to  them  in  the  morning,  confess  the 
injury  I  have  done  them,  and  beg  them  to  forgive 
me." 

This  story  illustrates  the  Proverb  of  Solomon, 
"  A  whisperer  separateth  chief  friends."  Sarah 
Porter  was  a  whisperer,  and  she  separated  these 
little  friends,  who  loved  each  other  as  sisters.  A 
whisperer  is  a  very  bad  character.  J£  you  will 
read  the  29th,  30th,  and  31st  verses  of  the  first 
chapter  of  Romans,  you  will  see  that  Paul  classes 
them  with  the  very  vilest  of  characters. 


91 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

FEMALE   INFLUENCE. 

HERE  are  some  things,  which 
females  can  do,  in  a  modest, 
quiet  way,  to  exert  a  good  in- 
fluence upon  others,  to  much 
better  effect  than  the  other  sex. 
Perhaps   there  is  nothing   in 
which  they  can  do  this  more 
effectively  than    in   checking 
such  evil  habits  as  drinking  intoxi- 
cating liquors,  using  tobacco,   and 
an  indulgence  in  impiety,  vulgarity, 
and  profaneness  of  speech. 
Their  persuasive  appeals,  or  keen  re- 
bukes, will  often  be  received,  when,  if 
they  came  from  a  man,  they  would  only 
give  offence,  and  excite  anger. 


Swearing  in  Hebrew. 

A  young  lady  in  the  cars  was  very  much  an- 
noyed by  the  conversation  of  a  young  naval  offi- 
cer, which  was  intermingled  with  oaths.     After 


99  SWEAIUXG   IN   HEBREW. 

bearing  it  a  while,  and  seeing  no  improvement, 
she  inquired,  "  Sir,  can  you  converse  in  the 
Hebrew  tongue?"  He  replied  that  he  could, 
expecting,  no  doubt,  to  have  the  pleasure  of  hold- 
ing some  learned  conversation  with  her.  She 
then  very  politely  told  him  that,  if  he  wished  to 
swear  any  more,  he  would  greatly  oblige  herself, 
and  probably  the  rest  of  the  passengers,  if  he 
would  swear  in  that  language.  The  young  man 
was  silent  the  rest  of  the  way.  Profaneness, 
besides  being  an  impious  offence  against  God,  is 
universally  considered  as  too  vulgar  to  be  in- 
dulged in  the  presence  of  ladies.  It  is  such  an 
offence  against  decency  and  propriety,  that,  in 
any  company,  they  will  be  sustained  in  rebuking 
it.  But  it  has  a  much  finer  effect,  when  it  can 
be  done  in  such  a  style  as  this.  Probably  the 
young  man  never  will  forget  it  as  long  as  he  lives. 

The  Sea   Captain. 

A  young  gentleman  was  standing  with  a  young 
hvdy  on  the  deck  of  a  steamboat,  conversing  on 
the  comparative  beauty  of  a  storm  and  a  calm  at 
sea,  when  suddenly  they  had  the  opportunity  of 
making  the  comparison.  The  heavens  became 
black  as  night.  The  wind  moaned  through  the 
ship's  rigging.     The  thunder  came  nearer,  and 


THE    SWEARKR    CHANGED.  93 

the  lightning  wreathed  the  clouds  with  its  flame. 
The  black  waters  foamed  angrily,  and  the  waves 
went  rolling  and  tumbling  onward,  dashing  their 
crested  tops  to  the  clouds,  while  the  boat  was 
tossing  like  a  feather  in  the  wind,  now  mounting 
on  the  billow,  and  now  sinking  again  to  the 
depths.  There  was  hurrying  to  and  fro  upon  the 
deck,  and  anxiety  on  many  a  countenance.  The 
loud  shout  of  the  commander  was  heard  above 
the  voice  of  the  tempest,  issuing  orders  to  the 
crew.  He  came  near  where  the  young  gentle- 
man and  lady  were  standing,  and  awoke  them 
from  their  reverie  of  admiration  by  a  blast  from 
his  speaking-trumpet,  giving  some  command  to 
his  men.  The  command  not  being  obeyed,  it  was 
repeated,  accompanied  with  horrid  oaths  and 
curses.  The  young  lady  started,  and  with  a 
shudder,  said  to  her  companion,  "  I  fear  not  the 
voice  of  the  tempest,  or  the  wrath  of  the  deep,  or 
the  fiery  footsteps  of  Jehovah,  as  he  walks  upon 
the  wings  of  the  whirlwind ;  but  I  dare  not  stand 
in  the  presence  of  a  man  who  curses  his  God.  — 
Let  us  go  below." 

As  they  passed  away,  the  captain  turned  and 
looked  upon  them  with  an  air  which  told  that  he 
heard  and  felt  the  remark.  After  the  storm  had 
passed  away,  the  captain  sought  the  lady,  and 
begged  her  pardon,  promising  never  again   to 


?W  THE   SWEARER    CHANGED. 

take  the  name  of  God  in  vain.  With  expressions 
of  gratitude  to  God,  she  drew  a  small  Bible  from 
her  side,  and  presented  it  to  him,  saying,  she 
hoped  it  might  work  in  him  a  greater  and  hoUer 
reformation. 

Some  years  after,  this  young  lady  with  her 
father  and  mother  were  at  church,  in  a  strange 
city,  listening  to  the  burning  eloquence  of  a  man, 
whose  whole  soul  was  absorbed  in  the  mighty 
theme  of  the  cross.  When  he  came  down  from 
the.  pulpit,  he  greeted  the  strangers,  and  lifting 
a  small  volume  towards  heaven,  expressed  his 
gratitude  at  beholding  again  the  person  who  had 
given  him  that  Bible,  with  that  kind  admonition, 
through  which  the  blasphemous  sea  captain  was 
changed  to  a  minister  of  righteousness. 

Doing  Good. 

Some  people  complain  that  they  have  no  op- 
portunity to  do  good.  They  think,  perhaps,  if 
they  were  in  such  or  such  a  situation,  they  might 
do  much.  Perhaps  some  of  my  readers  may  be 
ready  to  ask,  "  What  good  can  a  little.*girl  do  ? 
If  I  grow  to  be  a  woman,  perhaps  I  shall  be  a 
missionary,  and  then  I  can  do  good  to  the  poor 
heathen  children ;  or,  it  may  be  I  shall  be  a 
minister's  wife,  and  then  I  can  do  good  to  all  the 


DOING    GOOD.  95 

little  boys  and  girls  in  the  parish.  But  now,  I 
am  only  a  little  girl,  —  what  good  can  I  do  ?  " 
Our  Saviour  says,  "  He  that  is  faithful  in  that 
which  is  least,  is  faithful  also  in  much."  If  you 
wish  to  be  prepared  for  a  higher  station,  you 
must  be  faithful  where  you  are ;  if  you  would  be 
prepared  for  groat  usefulness,  you  must  embrace 
every  opportunity  to  do  good  to  those  around 
you,  in  your  own  family,  and  among  your  young 
companions.  But  you  cannot  tell  how  much  good 
may  be  accomplished,  with  a  very  little  effort,  in 
an  humble  sphere ;  for  an  influence  once  set  a 
going,  rolls  on,  increasing  as  the  waves  of  the  sea. 
This  you  will  see,  in  the  following  anecdote. 

A  girl  employed  in  a  woollen -factory  in  Eng- 
land, obtained  leave  of  absence  to  visit  her  native 
place.  While  there,  she  called  at  a  factory  in 
that  town,  where  she  had  formerly  worked,  in 
which  there  was  a  Sabbath  school.  Her  late 
mistress  inquired  whether  they  had  a  Sabbath 
school  in  the  factory  where  she  was  now  employ- 
ed, and  finding  they  had  not,  she  encouraged  the 
girl  to  try  to  form  one,  and  gave  her  some  books 
When  she  returned,  she  talked  to  her  companions 
on  the  subject,  and  several  of  them  agreed  to  the 
proposal.  The  next  Sabbath,  they  went  in  a 
little  company  to  the  church.  When  the  pro- 
prietor of  the  factory  heard  of  it,  he  talked  with 


96  INFLUENCE    OF   A    WORD. 

his  foreman  about  it,  and  agreed  to  superintend 
the  school,  and  the  factory  was  turned  into  the 
school-room.  AU  the  children,  amounting  to 
about  seventy,  employed  in  the  factory,  attended, 
and  ten  of  the  workmen  became  teachers.  The 
conduct  of  the  children  was  soon  greatly  improv- 
ed. Instead  of  being  engaged  in  idle  and  vicious 
conversation,  they  might  be  seen  with  their  books 
before  them,  diligently  storing  their  minds  with 
Scripture  truth. 

When  the  establishment  of  this  school  became 
known  in  the  town,  numerous  applications  were 
made  by  the  poor,  for  permission  to  attend  the 
"  Factory  Sabbath  SchooL"  But  as  there  was 
not  room  for  them  in  the  factory,  appUcation  was 
made  to  the  minister  of  the  place,  to  see  if  some- 
thing could  not  be  done  to  provide  instruction  for 
the  poor  children  of  the  town.  The  minister 
wrote  a  subscription-paper,  and  went  round  to 
see  if  money  could  be  raised  to  build  a  school- 
house.  The  proposal  was  well  received.  One 
gentleman  gave  a  piece  of  ground  to  buUd  on, 
with  fifty  dollars  a  year  to  support  the  schooL 
Two  others  gave  two  hundred  dollars  apiece; 
and  the  inhabitants  generally  subscribed  liberally. 
A  substantial  school-house  was  built,  in  which 
more  than  one  hundred  and  fifty  boys  received 
daily  instruction. 


INFLUENCE. 


97 


How  small  an  influence  set  all  this  in  motion  ; 
In  the  first  place,  a  kind  encouraging  word  and  a 
few  books,  from  a  benevolent  woman  to  a  young 
girl ;  and  next,  the  influence  of  this  girl  upon  her 
companions.  The  stone  was  set  a  rolling  on  the 
top  of  the  hill,  and  every  stone  it  touched  in  its 
progress  moved  along  with  it,  till  hundreds  came 
tumbling  down  like  an  avalanche.  Such  is  in- 
jluence.     Let  no  one  say,  "  I  can  do  no  good." 


98 


CHAPTER  IX. 


NOVELS    AND    PLAYS. 

Dr.  Johnson's  opinion  of  Novels. 

PON  Gaxrick,  the  play-actor, 
Dr.  Jolinson  one  day  called, 
and  was  shown  into  his  study, 
to  wait  for  his  appearance. 
In  an  adjoining  room  were 
all  the  novels  and  other  light 
works,  which  had  been  pre- 
sented to  Mr.  Garrick  by  his 
friends.  The  door  being  open,  Dr. 
Johnson  went  in,  and  taking  up  first 
one  and  then  another  of  the  books, 
read  a  little,  and  then  threw  it 
down.  Before  Garrick  arrived,  the  floor 
.  was  strewed  with  these  splendid  volumes. 
Garrick  was  very  angry  at  finding  John- 
son there,  and  said  it  was  a  private  cabi- 
net, and  no  company  was  admitted  there.  "  But," 
said  Johnson,  "  I  was  determined  to  examine 
some  of  your  valuables,  which  I  find  to  consist 
of  three  sorts,  stuff,  trash,  and  nonsense." 


NOVELS   AKD   PLATS.  99 

Novels  and  Plays. 

At  a  dinner  party  of  young  gentlemen,  some 
years  ago,  in  Philadelphia,  theatrical  perform- 
ances were  spoken  of  with  great  approbation,  and 
praised  as  the  best  moral  school  in  the  world. 
One  of  the  company  being  silent,  his  opinion  was 
asked.  He  begged  leave  to  differ  from  them 
entirely ;  and  gave  it  as  his  opinion  that  such 
performances  were  calculated  to  check  in  young 
gentlemen  and  ladies,  all  solid  moral  and  mental 
improvement,  and  to  introduce  extravagance, 
dissipation,  and  light  and  frivolous  conversation. 
This  fixed  the  eyes  of  the  whole  company  upon 
him,  with  a  sternness  that  convinced  him  that 
they  thought  his  opinion  deserved  the  strongest 
disapprobation.  But  to  convince  them  that  he 
was  right,  he  proposed  that  they  should  appoint 
a  committee  of  two  of  their  number,  with  whom 
he  would  visit  the  theatre  two  or  three  nights  in 
a  week  for  a  month,  on  condition  that  they  should 
the  next  morning  introduce  him  to  some  of  the 
young  gentlemen  and  ladies  who  were  at  the  play. 
This  was  agreed  to.  At  the  expiration  of  a 
month,  the  same  party  dined  together,  in  order 
to  hear  the  report  of  their  committee ;  who  stated 
that  of  eighty  young  ladies,  whom  they  had  visit- 
ed the  next  morning  after  the  play,  only  one  of 
them  had  spoken  of  the  moral  of  the  play  ;  and 


100  KOMANTIC   NOTIONS. 

that  the  conversation  was  generally  respecting 
the  dresses  and  gestures  of  the  actors  and  act- 
resses, the  fashionable  dresses  of  the  ladies  in  the 
audience,  novels,  dances,  &c.  This  conversation 
had  convinced  the  committee  that  plays  and  novels 
were  a  very  great  injury  to  all  solid  improvement ; 
and  this  report  convinced  the  whole  company  of 
the  correctness  of  the  gentleman's  opinion  at  the 
previous  party. 

The  FoUy  of  Romance. 

Novel-reading  fills  the  heads  of  young  girls 
with  romantic  notions.  They  become  weary  with 
the  dull  round  of  ordinary  life.  They  sigh  for 
some  adventure,  such  as  they  have  read  of  in 
works  of  fiction.  The  restless  and  uneasy  spirit 
thus  cultivated  prepares  them  to  become  an  easy 
prey  to  the  false-hearted  libertine. 

A  young  lady  of  sixteen,  an  orphan,  under  the 
care  of  an  uncle,  was  attending  a  boarding-school 
in  Upper  Canada.  She  was  delicately  bred,  and 
ignorant  of  the  world.  Her  naturally  romantic 
feelings  had  doubtless  been  fostered  by  the  perni- 
cious practice  of  novel-reading,  which  has  turned 
the  heads  of  thousands.  A  man  was  introduced 
to  her  friends  as  a  gentleman  of  standing  and  re- 
spectability;  and,  by  his  pleasing  address  and 
winnirg  manners,  soon  presented  to  her  mind  the 


AN   ADVENTURE.  101 

heau'ideal  of  the  romance.  He  proposed  mar 
riage.  Her  guardian  and  other  friends  opposed 
it.  He  was  a  stranger.  She  was  too  young. 
But  this  opposition  was  necessary  to  complete 
the  romance,  and  make  out  an  adventure.  An 
elopement  was  now  agreed  upon.  They  ran 
away  together,  and  were  married  in  Detroit.  It 
was  not  long,  however,  before  he  was  over:a.ken 
by  a  creditor,  from  the  place  where  he  had  for- 
merly resided,  arrested,  carried  to  Cleveland,  Ohio, 
and  put  in  jail.  His  young  and  beautiful  wife  fol- 
lowed him,  declaring  herself  willing  to  die  with 
him  in  prison.  This  was  necessary  to  complete 
the  romance.  But  then  she  was  informed  that  he 
had  left  a  wife  as  well  as  creditors,  at  the  East. 
The  scene  was  now  heart-rending.  All  the  ro- 
mantic hopes,  which  for  weeks  had  filled  her 
mind,  were  now  dashed  in  a  moment.  The  fiend 
in  human  shape,  who  bad  deceived  her,  being 
released  from  prison,  left  her  to  her  fate.  For 
him  she  had  given  up  all  —  the  home  and  com- 
panions of  her  childhood,  her  guardian  and 
friends,  —  and  now  he  not  only  abandons  her, 
but  denies  their  marriage.  She  returned,  asham- 
ed and  broken-hearted  to  her  friends,  —  a  lesson 
to  romantic  girls  not  to  make  matches  in  their 
teens,  against  the  advice  of  their  friends — a  lesson 
to  boarding-school  misses  to  mind  their  studies, 
and  keep  shy  of  novels,  men,  and  boys. 


102 


CHAPTER  X. 

DANCING. 

OICE  of  Warning.  A  young 
lady  was  attentive  to  religious 
meetings,  and  was  for  some 
time  the  subject  of  serious 
impressions.  But  a  dancing- 
school  was  opened,  and  she  at- 
tended it.  Of  course,  she  lost 
all  her  seriousness.  The  spirit 
of  the  Lord  is  far  from  scenes  of 
giddy  mirth.  One  day,  there  was  a 
kfuneral  in  the  village  at  noon,  and 
fin  the  evening  of  the  same  day,  di- 
rectly across  the  street,  there  was  a 
.dance.  Another  day,  the  young  lady  I 
have  mentioned  followed  one  of  her  rela- 
tives to  the  grave.  Soon  after,  a  young 
gentleman  called  to  accompany  her  to  the  dance. 
Her  mother  told  her  she  had  better  not  go,  —  it 
would  not  be  proper  so  soon  after  the  funeral  of 
their  friend.  The  daughter  answered,  "  I.  shall 
go  to  the  dance,  if  I  die,  and  all  my  friends  were 
corpses ! "    She  was  immediately  taken  sick ;  and 


SOLEMN   WARNINGS.  103 

the  day  after  he  was  to  have  waited  on  her  to 
the  ball,  the  young  gentleman  followed  her  corpse 
to  the  gi-ave  1 

Another. 

A  pious  lady  had  two  children,  a  son  and  a 
daughter.  The  son  was  immoral  in  his  conduct, 
and  a  source  of  great  grief  to  his  mother ;  but  the 
gentle  and  docile  character  of  the  daughter  gave 
great  promise  of  excellence.  She  grew  up  beau- 
tiful and  graceful ;  and  her  father,  who  was  not  a 
pious  man,  insisted  on  sending  her  to  the  village 
dancing-school.  To  the  mother,  who  had  devoted 
her  child  to  God,  such  an  act  seemed  little  short 
of  sacrilege.  But,  in  spite  of  her  tears  and  en- 
treaties, the  daughter  was  decorated  with  the 
earnings  of  the  doating  father,  and  sent  to  this 
school  of  fashion  and  folly.  Her  beauty  was  so 
remarkable,  and  her  natural  graces  so  attractive, 
that  she  soon  became  the  belle  of  the  village. 

The  father  now  died,  and  the  poor  widow  was 
enabled  to  withdraw  her  daughter  from  these 
scenes  of  temptation.  She  sought,  with  some 
success,  to  instruct  her  in  those  religious  truths, 
which  had  proved  her  own  comfort  and  support 
in  scenes  of  trial.  The  daughter  lent  a  willing 
ear,  ayd  seemed  to  be  the  subipct  of  good  im- 


104  BAD    EXAMPLES. 

pressions ;  and  two  years  after  the  death  of  her 
father,  she  was  on  the  point  of  making  a  public 
profession  of  religion.  But  now  the  village  was 
thrown  into  great  excitement.  Some  rich  men, 
to  show  their  generosity,  determined  to  gratify 
the  people  with  a  horse-race  and  a  hall.  The 
poor  widow  shuddered  as  she  witnessed  the  rapid 
progress  of  this  much  dreaded  evil.  In  the  midst 
of  this  excitement,  her  deceased  husband's  brother 
came  to  town  with  his  only  daughter,  and  stopped 
at  her  house.  This  man  was  a  horse-jockey,  and 
his  daughter  an  ardent  votary  of  second-hand 
fashions  and  graces.  He  fell  into  raptures  at  the 
sight  of  his  niece's  beauty,  and  declared  that  ho. 
would  be  at  the  expense  of  equipping  her  like 
his  own  child,  and  that  she  should  eclipse  all  the 
women  of  rank  and  fashion  in  the  ball-room. 

The  poor  girl  was  at  first  unwilling  to  listen  to 
these  follies ;  but  she  had  always  delighted  in 
dancing,  and,  on  this  occasion,  suffered  her  better 
judgment  to  be  overruled.  "  'T  is  but  for  once, 
mother,"  said  she,  "and  to  please  my  uncle  — 
nay,  to  avoid  giving  him  incurable  offence.  Be- 
lieve me,  I  shaU  not  suffer  my  head  to  be  turned 
by  one  night  of  gaiety.  Pray  for  me,  mother, 
that  this  compliance  with  the  will  of  my  father's 
brother  may  not  produce  evil  consequences." 

"  My  child,"  «iid  the  distressed  mother,  "  I  dare 


■WANT    OF  RESOLUTION.  105 

not  SO  word  my  supplication.  It  is  in  compliance 
with  your  own  will,  that  you  thus  venture  on  the 
tempter'3  own  ground,  and  in  this  open  act  of 
disobedience  to  your  Heavenly  Father  I  cannot 
lend  my  aid  to  excuse  or  extenuate  your  guilt. 
I  have  prayed  —  I  will  stiU  pray  that  you  may 
not  venture  still  further  in  this  matter ;  but  if 
you  do,  the  responsibility  must  rest  with  your- 
self." 

"  But,  mother,  the  scriptures  say  there  is  a 
*  time  to  dance.' " 

"  So,  they  say,  in  the  same  place,  'there  is  a 
time  to  make  war,  a  time  to  hate.'  The  wise 
man  means  that  all  sins  and  follies  will  have  their 
seasons,  but  he  does  not  therefore,  advocate  sin 
and  folly.  O  beware,  my  child,  and  let  the  same 
scriptures  teU  you,  that  he  who  hardeneth  his 
neck  under  reproof  shall  be  destroyed,  and  that 
stiddenly.  These  are  fearful  words,  my  cnild. 
O  heed  my  reproof,  and  do  not  harden  your 
neck." 

"  Mother,"  the  girl  replied,  "  I  have  promised 
my  uncle  to  go  to  this  unlucky  ball,  and  I  cannot 
break  my  promise  "without  offending  him.  He 
has  been  so  kind  that  it  would  seem  ungrateful  to 
dii  appoint  him  in  this  trifle." 

"  0  my  daughter,"  said  the  mother,  stopping 
her  ears,  "  let  me  not  hear  you  use  such  awful 


106  A    SAD    llESULT. 

language !  Can  it  be  you  who  call  this  sin  a 
trifle  !  Go,  if  you  will,  but  make  no  more  vain 
attempts  to  make  it  appear  right,  lest  you  add  to 
your  condemnation." 

The  daughter  went  to  the  ball.  She  was  much 
admired,  and  so  often  solicited  to  dance  that  her 
blood  became  painfiilly  overheated.  She  started 
to  go  to  a  little  back  porch,  in  order  to  find  relief 
from  the  heated  atmosphere  of  the  room.  As 
she  was  passing  rapidly  out  of  the  room,  she  met 
a  servant,  half  intoxicated,  carrying  a  pitcher  of 
water.  In  staggering  out  of  the  way  he  overset 
the  water  into  her  bosom.  This  sudden  shock 
was  too  much  for  her.  It  brought  on  a  violent 
ague,  which  terminated  in  convulsions,  and  before 
the  dawn  of  day,  she  expired  in  the  arms  of  her 
distracted  mother.  She  was  heard,  in  her  last 
moments,  with  difficulty  to  utter  the  word  "  sud- 
denly" evidently  alluding  to  the  warning  which 
her  mother  had  given  her. 

This  narrative  affords  a  good  answer  to  the 
question,  whether  it  is  safe  for  girls  to  attend  the 
dancing  school.  If  they  learn  to  dance,  they 
wiU  then  be  importuned  to  go  to  balls  ;  and  we 
have  seen  how  this  young  lady  overcame  her 
scruples.  "We  cannot  disregard  the  hand  of  Grod 
in  her  sad  end ;  but  if  we  could,  and  there  were 
no  moral  evils  attending  such  places  of  amuse- 


TENDENCY    OF   DANCING.  107 

ment,  the  danger  to  health  and  life,  to  which 
young  ladies  are  exposed,  by  these  unnatural  ex- 
citements, heated  rooms,  stimulating  refreshments, 
and  exposure  to  the  cold  while  heated,  is  a  suffi- 
cient reason  why  they  should  not  attend.  But  the 
exposure  to  moral  evih  is  stiU  greater.  The  ball 
room  is  the  place  to  harden  the  heart  against  all 
serious  impressions.  It  is  the  place  where  the 
unwary  are  exposed  to  the  most  dangerous  seduc- 
tions. It  is  the  place  where  no  one  can  expect 
the  grace  of  God  to  help  her  resist  temptation. 

A  contrast  to  the  foregoing. 

There  was  a  young  girl,  who  was  beloved  by 
very  many  friends  ;  and  whose  warm  heart  recip- 
rocated all  the  affections  which  were  bestowed 
upon  her.  She  had  a  father  and  mother,  who 
were  extensively  known  and  respected.  She  had 
brothers  and  sisters,  both  older  and  younger  than 
herself ;  and  love  was  the  presiding  genius  of  the 
family.  The  mother  was  a  pious  woman  and  she 
faithfully  instructed  her  children  in  their  duty  to 
God.  The  daughter  of  whom  we  are  speaking, 
was  early  brought,  as  she  believed,  to  receive  the 
blessed  Saviour  as  her  friend  and  the  guide  of  her 
youth.  Soon  after,  she  left  home  to  attend 
school.     Though  here  she  met  a  large  number 


108  THE   PRATING    GIRL. 

of  the  gay  and  thoughtless,  she  turned  away  from 
those  who  wasted  the  precious  time  allotted  them 
for  improvement  in  vain  and  trifling  amusements. 
After  some  months,  she  returned  home,  and  soon 
after  united  with  the  church. 

Arrangements  were  then  made  for  her  to  spend 
several  months  in  the  city  ;  and  a  short  time  before 
she  left  home,  her  father,  who  was  a  man  of  the 
world,  told  her  that  it  was  his  wish  that  she  should 
spend  part  of  her  time  in  attending  the  danciiig 
school,  for  the  purpose  of  polishing  her  manners  ! 
As  though  good  manners  could  only  be  learned  in 
the  school  of  vanity  and  folly.  But  nothing  that  this 
father  could  have  done,  would  have  given  greater 
pain  to  his  beloved  child  than  this  request.  She 
was  anxious  to  please  and  honor  him ;  but  she 
thought  a  compliance  with  his  wishes  would  dis- 
honor the  Saviour,  to  whom  she  had  just  devoted 
herself.  She  told  her  father  how  she  felt ;  and 
her  mother  approved  her  choice.  But  her  father 
laughed  at  what  he  called  her  folly,  and  turned 
away  from  her  with  displeasure.  She  was  griev- 
ed to  the  heart.  She  loved  her  father ;  but  she 
loved  her  Saviour  more.  She  retired  to  her 
closet,  and  like  good  king  Hezekiah,  "  spread  the 
matter  before  the  Lord."  She  prayed  earnestly 
that  He  who  has  power  to  change  the  heart, 
would  reconcile  her  father  to  the  decision  which 


A  OOOD    RESULT.  109 

she  had  made.  She  returned  to  the  parlor.  Her 
father's  feelings  were  softened,  though  he  knew 
not  what  she  had  been  doing.  In  tones  of  ten- 
dernesss,  he  said,  "My  child,  I  will  not  insist 
upon  your  attending  the  dancing  school.  If  you 
prefer  not  to  attend  it,  you  shall  act  your  pleas- 
ure." 

These  words  from  her  father,  so  different  firom 
those  which  he  had  so  recently  addressed  to  her, 
filled  her  with  sweet  peace.  She  went  to  the 
city,  where  she  entered  a  school  of  sixty  young 
ladies,  aU  older  than  herself,  and  aU  gay  and 
thoughtless.  When  they  went  to  the  dance  she 
went  to  the  prayer-meeting  or  the  social  circle. 
She  did  not  seclude  herself,  but  enjoyed  the  soci- 
ety of  some  of  the  most  refined  and  intellectual 
people  in  the  city  —  a  far  better  school  for  the 
improvement  of  manners,  than  a  company  of 
thoughtless  young  people,  under  the  direction  of 
an  unprincipled  Frenchman,  to  teach  them  how 
to  hop  and  skip  scientifically  and  gracefully. 
This  young  lady  has  lived  many  years,  and  passed 
through  a  great  variety  of  scenes  and  changes ; 
bat  she  has  never  regretted  the  decision  which 
she  made  at  that  time.  How  much  better  the 
termination,  in  this  case,  than  in  the  other,  where 
the  young  girl  went  to  dancing  school  to  please 
aa  ungodly  father,  and  to  a  ball  to  please  a 
10 


110  DEATH   IN    A    BALL-KOOM. 

worldly-minded  uncle,  and  from  the  ball-room,  to 
eternity ! 

Death  in  a  Ball-room. 

A  student  was  spending  a  vacation  with  a  cel- 
ebrated physician.  On  a  beautiful,  but  keenly 
cold  evening  in  January,  a  young  gentleman  came 
into  the  office,  and  with  a  hurried  air,  inquired 
for  the  doctor.  As  the  physician  was  not  to  be 
found,  the  student  was  requested  to  go  with  the 
young  man,  which  he  did.  On  the  way,  the  young 
man  informed  him  that  there  was  a  ball  at  the 
hotel,  which  had  been  interrupted  by  the  sudden 
illness  of  one  of  the  belles  of  the  evening.  On 
arriving  at  the  hotel,  they  wore  surprised  at  the 
rapid  filling  and  driving  away  of  the  carriages. 
The  hilarity  of  the  occasion  had  been  suddenly 
exchanged  for  mute  terror.  Hurrying  through  the 
crowd,  they  entered  the  ball-room.  It  was  spa- 
cious and  brilliantly  lighted,  but  deserted  of  its 
occupants,  save  a  horror-stricken  group  in  the 
center.  On  a  sofa,  which  had  been  drawn  from 
the  side  of  the  room,  sat  a  young  lady,  in  a  stoop- 
ing posture,  as  though  in  the  act  of  rising,  with 
one  hand  stretched  out  to  take  that  of  her  part- 
ner, who  was  to  have  led  her  to  the  dance.  With 
the  smile  upon  her  lip,  and  eyes  beaming  with 


A    SAD    SPECTACLE.  Ill 

excitement,  death  had  seized  her.  The  smile 
of  joy  was  now  transformed  to  a  hideous  grin. 
The  beaming  eye  now  seemed  but  a  glazed  mass, 
protruding  from  the  socket.  The  carmine  added 
to  give  brilliancy  to  her  complexion,  now  con- 
trasted strangely  with  the  sallow  hue  her  skin 
assumed,  while  the  gorgeous  trappings,  in  which 
fashion  had  decked  her,  seemed  but  a  mocking  of 
the  habiliments  of  the  grave.  The  pale  mother, 
as  she  knelt  beside  her  child,  groaned  out,  "  Not 
here !  not  here  !     Let  her  die  at  home  ! " 

I  do  not  pretend  to  say  that  God  sends  death 
into  the  ball-room  to  show  his  disapprobation  of 
such  scenes.  This  would  not  be  a  fair  conclusion ; 
for  death  sometimes  seizes  people  in  the  house  of 
God.  We  do  not  know  the  reasons  of  God's 
Providential  dispensations ;  though  open  and 
presumptuous  sins  are  often  visibly  punished. 
As  I  have  remQ.rked  before,  the  exposure,  the 
tight  dressing,  and  the  high  excitement  of  the  ball- 
room, has  a  strong  tendency  to  bring  on  sudden 
death,  especially  with  females,  It  may  be,  also, 
that  God  intends  by  it  to  show  that  no  place  is 
exempt  from  the  destroyer.  At  all  events,  the 
fact  that  so  many  have  been  suddenly  called  into 
eternity  from  such  scenes  of  mirth,  shows  that  il 
may  occur  again ;  and  who  would  wish  to  die  in 
a  ball-room? 


Ill 


112 


CHAPTER  XI. 

MISCELLANEOUS    SUBJECTS. 
Honesty  Rewarded. 

HILE  walking  in  Broad- 
way, in  the  city  of  New 
York,  a  gentleman  discover- 
ed that  he  had  lost  his  pocket- 
book.  He  immediately  re- 
turned, asking  every  one 
he  met,  whether  they  had 
seen  it  At  length,  inquir- 
ing of  a  little  girl  ten  years  of  age, 
she  asked, "  What  kind  of  a  pocket- 
book  ? "  He  described  it,  and 
then  she  vmfolded  her  apron  and 
took  out  one  just  like  what  he  had 
described,  saying,  "  Is  this  it  ?  "  The 
gentleman  told  her  it  was,  and  said  she 
must  go  into  the  store  with  him.  So  he 
opened  the  book,  examined  the  money  and  papers, 
and  found  she  had  taken  nothing  out  of  it.  "  Fif- 
teen bUls,  of  a  thousand  dollars  each,"  said  he. 
If  they  had  fallen  into  other  hands,  I  might  never 


HONESTY   BE  WARDED.  113 

have  seen  them  again.  Take  this  on«,  of  a 
thousand  dollars,  my  little  girl,  as  a  reward  for 
your  honesty."  "No  sir,"  said  the  little  girl, 
"  I  have  been  taught  not  to  keep  what  is  not  mine, 
and  my  parents  might  not  be  pleased,  if  I  should 
take  it  home  —  they  might  think  I  had  stolen  it" 
"  "Well,  then,  my  child,  show  me  where  your  pa- 
rents live."  The  httle  girl  showed  him  the  way 
to  a  small  house,  in  a  back  street,  for  her  parents 
were  poor.  He  informed  them  what  had  hap- 
pened. They  told  him  that  their  little  girl  had 
done  right,  in  not  accepting  the  money ;  for,  in 
giving  him  the  pocket-book,  she  only  did  what  she 
ought.  It  would  have  been  a  crime  if  she  had 
kept  it.  However,  the  gentleman  insisted  on  their 
taking  the  tnousand  dollars  ;  which  enabled  them 
to  pay  their  debts,  live  comfortably,  and  educate 
their  daughter  ;  who  afterwards  became  the  wife 
of  a  respectable  merchant  in  New  York.  But 
if  she  had  kept  the  pocket-book,  she  would  have 
got  herself  and  her  parents  into  serious  difficulty. 
It  is  always  safest  and  best  to  do  right. 

Temper  and  Teazing. 

There  was  a  rich  nobleman  in  England,  who 
had  a  little  daughter  named  Anne.     They  were 
very  fond  of  her ;  for  she  was  a  fine  little  crea- 
10* 


114  '  TEMPER   AND    TEAZING. 

ture,  very  lively  and  merry,  affectionate,  and 
exceedingly  beautiful.  But  she  had  a  naughty 
temper.  When  any  thing  vexed  her,  she  would 
fly  into  a  rage,  and  turn  and  strike  any  one  that 
provoked  her.  After  every  fit  of  rage,  she  would 
be  ashamed  and  sorry,  and  resolve  never  to  be 
80  bad  again.  But  the  next  time  she  was  pro- 
voked, it  was  all  forgotten,  and  she  was  as  angry 
as  ever.  When  she  was  between  four  and  five 
years  of  age,  her  mother  had  a  little  son,  —  a 
sweet  little  tender  baby.  The  servants,  who 
were  thoughtless  and  wicked,  loved  to  teaze  little 
Anne,  because  she  was  so  easily  irritated ;  and 
so  they  told  her  that  her  father  and  mother  would 
not  care  for  her  now,  because  aU  their  love  and 
pleasure  would  be  in  this  brother,  and  they 
would  not  mind  her.  Poor  Anne  burst  into  a 
flood  of  tears,  and  cried  bitterly,  saying,  "  You 
are  a  wicked  woman  to  say  so  ;  mamma  wiU  al- 
ways love  me,  I  know  she  will,  and  I  'U  go  this 
very  moment  and  ask  her."  And  she  darted  out 
of  the  nursery,  and  flew  to  her  mother's  room. 
The  servant  called  after  her,  "  Come,  Miss,  you 
needn't  go  to  your  mother's  room,  she  won't  see 
you  now."  Anne  burst  open  the  door,  but  was 
instantly  caught  hold  of  by  a  strange  woman  she 
had  never  seen  before,  "My  dear,"  said  this 
woman,  "  you   cannot  be   allowed   to  see   your 


TEMPER    AND    TEAZING.  •     115 

mamma  just  now  "  —  and  she  was  going  on  to 
tell  her  that  it  was  because  she  was  very  sick 
and  must  not  be  disturbed.  But  she  was  too 
angry  to  listen  ;  and  she  screamed  and  kicked  at 
the  woman,  who  was  obliged  to  take  her  by  force 
and  carry  her  back  to  the  nursery.  When  she 
put  her  down,  she  gave  the  servant  a  charge  to 
prevent  her  going  to  her  mother's  room.  This 
added  to  her  rage.  But  the  wicked  servant  burst 
into  a  laugh,  and  said,  "  I  told  you  that.  Miss. 
You  see  your  mamma  does  not  love  you  now." 
The  poor  child  became  mad  with  fury.  She 
seized  a  smoothing  iron,  and  darting  forward, 
threw  it  upon  the  baby's  head,  as  it  lay  in  the 
cradle.  The  child  gave  one  struggle,  and  breath- 
ed no  more. 

Anne's  mother  died  that  night  of  grief.  No 
other  child  was  ever  bom  to  the  family.  Anne 
grew  up  and  became  the  Countess  of  Crawford 
and  Livingstone.  She  was  fuUy  informed  of  the 
fatal  deed  she  had  committed ;  and  in  all  her  life, 
was  never  afterwards  known  to  smile. 

This  melancholy  tale  (which  is  a  well-authen- 
ticated fact),  teaches  two  important  lessons:  — 
(1.)  The  folly  and  danger  of  teazing  children ; 
and,  (2.)  The  danger  of  indulging  angry  passions. 
When  I  see  older  people  take  delight  in  teazing 
children,  or  children  in  teazing  one  another,  I 


116* 


TEMPER   AisD    TEAZING. 


think  it  an  evidence  of  a  bad  disposition,  a  mali- 
cious, black  heart.  What  else  could  give  them 
delight  in  tormenting  one  another  ?  And  if  I 
Bee  a  little  girl  in  a  storm  of  passion,  her  eye- 
balls flashing  with  rage,  and  her  hands  and  feet 
flying  with  fury,  I  think  of  Cain,  who  killed  his 
brother,  and  fear  that  some  terrible  disaster  will 
happen.  K  any  one  of  my  readers  is  afllicted  with 
a  bad  temper,  I  would  advise  her  when  she  feels 
an  angry  fit  coming  on,  to  run  to  her  room,  as 
fast  as  her  feet  can  carry  her,  and  there  remain 
tm  it  is  over,  falling  on  her  knees  and  praying 
God  to  give  lier  strength  to  control  it. 

If  any  of  you  are  tempted  to  teaze  others,  re- 
member this  sad  story,  and  reflect  what  conse- 
quences followed  the  thoughtless  conduct  of  these 
vicious  servants,  who  amused  themselves  by  ex- 
citing the  passions  of  this  little  girl.  But  if  any 
one  teazes  you,  think  what  a  slave  you  make  of 
yourself,  by  suffering  your  temper  to  be  disturbed 
by  such  things.  Have  independence  enough  not 
to  mind  what  is  said  on  purpose  to  teaze  you  ; 
and  then  no  one  will  attempt  it.  These  servants 
by  teazing,  and  this  girl  by  being  teazed,  were 
both  guilty  of  murder ;  and  the  lives  of  the  moth- 
er and  the  child  were  both  lost  in  consequence. 


▲N  AFFECTING   SCENE.  117 


Advantages  of  committing  to  Memory  Scripture^ 
Catechisms,  and  Hymns. 

No  one  knows  what  changes  may  take  place  in 
her  situation.  The  eyes  are  a  very  delicate 
structure,  easily  destroyed.  The  ears  are  often 
gradually  closed,  and  the  mind  shut  up  in  silence. 
Then  the  soul  is  dependent  upon  memory  for  its 
intellectual  food.  Happy,  at  such  times,  are  they 
that  have  their  minds  stored  with  the  precious 
word  of  God.  A  young  lady  was  led  into  the 
presence  of  an  eminent  surgeon,  totally  blind  and 
deaf.  This  calamity  came  upon  her  suddenly,  by 
a  violent  pain  in  the  head.  She  was  brought  to 
be  examined,  to  see  whether  there  was  any  relief. 
Several  surgeons  were  present,  all  of  whom  pro- 
nounced her  case  hopeless.  After  this  was  over, 
and  she  was  taken  to  the  house  of  a  friend,  she 
eagerly  inquired  what  the  doctor  said,  and  whether 
he  could  afford  her  any  relief.  The  only  way 
her  inquiries  could  be  answered  was,  by  tapping 
her  hand  for  "  ^,"  and  squeezing  it  for  "  Yes  ;  " 
for  she  could  not  hear  the  loudest  noise,  nor  dis- 
tinguish day  from  night.  When  she  received 
the  answer  "  No,"  she  burst  into  tears,  and  wept 
aloud,  in  the  bitterness  of  despair.  "  What !  shall 
I  never  again  see  the  light  of  day,  nor  hear  a 


118  AN   AFFECTING   SCENE. 

human  voice  ?  Must  I  remain  incapable  of  aL 
social  intercoui'se  —  shut  up  in  silence  and  dark- 
ness while  I  live?"  Again  she  wept.  The 
scene  was  truly  affecting.  Had  she  been  able  to 
see,  she  might  read,  and  receive  the  sympathetic 
expression  of  the  countenances  of  her  friends. 
Had  she  been  only  blind,  she  could  receive  knowl- 
edge and  expressions  of  friendship  through  the 
sense  of  hearing.  But  both  these  avenues  were 
closed,  to  be  no  more  opened  in  this  world.  Her 
friends  could  pity,  but  could  not  relieve.  And  to 
add  to  the  trial,  she  was  an  orphan,  with  no  fa- 
ther, mother,  brothers,  or  sisters,  to  pity  and  care 
for  her.  She  was  entirely  dependent  upon  a  few 
pious  friends  for  suppport.  This  she  keenly  felt. 
As  she  continued  to  weep,  a  friend  took  up  a 
Bible  and  placed  it  on  her  breast.  She  felt  it, 
and  said,  "  Is  this  the  Bible  ?  "  She  was  answer- 
ed that  it  was.  She  held  it  to  her  bosom,  and  said, 
"  This  is  the  only  comfort  I  have  left,  though  I 
shall  never  be  able  to  read  it  any  more,"  and 
began  to  repeat  some  of  its  promises,  as  "  Cast 
thy  burden  on  the  Lord,  and  he  will  sustain  thee." 
"  As  thy  day  is,  so  shall  thy  strength  be."  "  Call 
upon  me  in  the  day  of  trouble,  and  I  will  deliver 
thee."  "  My  grace  is  sufficient  for  thee."  "  In  a 
moment,"  says  the  narrator, "  she  dried  her  tears, 
and  became  one  of  the  happiest  creatures  I  ever 


CONSOLATION.  119 

saw."  She  never  seemed  to  deplore  her  condi- 
tion afterwards.  Although  the  channels  of  com- 
munication with  the  world  were  closed,  one  was 
opened  between  her  soul  and  heaven.  When  she 
was  a  very  little  girl,  she  had  been  to  the  Sabbath 
School,  where  she  had  committed  to  memory- 
many  portions  of  Scripture  ;  and  these  were  the 
manna  on  which  her  soul  now  feasted. 

The  Assembly's   Catechism. 

In  a  certain  school  district  in  the  State  of  New 
York,  there  lived  a  man  who  was  an  infidel,  and 
bitterly  opposed  to  religion.  The  Assembly's 
Catechism  was  taught  in  the  district  school ;  but 
when  the  children  were  called  upon  to  recite  it^ 
this  man's  cliildren  were  placed  on  a  seat  by 
themselves,  and  forbidden  to  take  part  in  the  ex- 
ercise. They  went  home  grieved  that  they 
should  be  treated  so  differently  from  the  rest  of 
the  children,  and  asked  their  mother  what  it 
meant.  She  told  them  she  did  not  know,  though 
she  suspected  the  cause.  When  her  husband 
came  home,  she  told  him  about  it,  and  asked  him 
whether,  as  she  suspected,  it  was  by  his  orders. 
He  told  her  it  was.  He  had  forbidden  the  in- 
Btructer  of  the  school  to  teach  it  to  them.  "  Then," 
said  the  mother,  "  they  shall  learn  it  at  home." 


120  THE    CATECHISM. 

"No,"  said  he,  "they  shall  never  learn  it  at 
home.  I  will  never  have  it  brought  into  the 
house."  "  I  have  the  catechism  every  word  of  it 
in  my  heart,"  she  replied ;  "  and  as  long  as  I  am 
your  wife,  I  shall  teach  it  to  our  children."  The 
man  said  no  more,  but  went  to  the  teacher,  and 
said,  "  My  wife  is  queen,  and  you  must  teach  the 
catechism  to  the  children."  This  woman  had 
committed  the  whole  catechism  perfectly  to  mem- 
ory, when  a  child. 

Another  woman  when  she  became  very  old 
and  blind,  so  that  she  could  not  read,  took  great 
comfort  in  repeating  the  catechism,  every  word 
of  which  she  remembered ;  and  she  dwelt  with 
great  delight  on  the  precious  truths  which  it  con- 
tains. 

Hymns. 

Many  years  ago,  several  German  families  left 
their  native  land  and  settled  in  this  country. 
Among  them  was  a  man  from  Wirtemberg,  who 
settled  with  his  family  in  Pennsylvania.  There 
were  no  churches  or  schools  in  that  part  of  the 
country ;  and  he  was  obliged  to  keep  the  Sab- 
bath with  his  family  at  home  ;  instructing  them 
to  read  the  Bible  and  pray,  and  to  commit  to 
memory  portions  of  Scripture  and  hymns. 


THE   CAPTURE.  121 

In  1754,  a  terrible  war  broke  out  between  the 
French  and  English.  The  Indians  took  part  with 
the  French ;  and  some  of  them  came  into  Penn- 
gylvania,  murdering  the  inhabitants  and  burning 
their  houses.  They  reached  the  dwelling  of  the 
family  from  Wirtemberg,  while  the  mother  and 
one  of  the  sons  were  gone  to  a  mill,  four  miles 
distant,  to  get  some  corn  ground.  The  father, 
the  eldest  son,  and  two  little  girls  named  Barba- 
ra and  Regina,  were  at  home.  The  father  and 
son  were  instantly  killed ;  but  the  little  girls 
were  carried  away  into  captivity,  with  a  great 
many  other  children,  who  were  taken  in  the  same 
manner.  They  were  led  many  miles,  through 
woods  and  thorny  bushes,  that  no  body  might 
follow  them. 

Barbara  was  at  this  time  ten  years  old,  and 
Regina  nine.  It  was  never  known  what  became 
of  Barbara ;  but  Regina,  with  a  little  girl  whom 
she  had  never  seen  before,  was  given  to  an  old 
Indian  woman,  who  was  very  cruel  to  them. 
Her  only  son  lived  with  her,  and  maintained  her ; 
but  he  was  sometimes  from  home  for  weeks  to- 
gether, and  then  these  poor  little  children  were 
forced  to  go  into  the  woods  to  gather  roots  and 
and  other  things  for  the  old  woman  to  eat ;  and 
when  they  di  d  not  bring  her  enough,  she  would 
beat  them  so  cruelly  that  they  were  nearly  killed. 
11 


122  LITTLE    CAPTIVE    GIRLS. 

And  now  Regina  began  to  find  the  advantage  of 
committing  to  memory  Scripture,  Hymns,  and 
Prayers.  She  would  kneel  down  with  the  other 
little  girl,  under  a  tree,  and  repeat  the  prayers  to 
the  Lord  Jesus,  and  the  hymns,  which  her  father 
had  taught  her ;  and  the  little  girl  prayed  with 
her,  and  learned  the  prayers  and  hymns  by  heart. 
In  this  condition  these  children  remained  nine 
long  years,  till  Regina  was  nineteen  and  her  little 
companion  eleven  years  old.  While  captives, 
they  took  much  comfort  in  repeating  together  the 
verses  and  hymns  which  Regina's  father  had 
taught  her.  They  would  cheer  each  other,  espe- 
cially with  one  hymn  from  the  German  hymn- 
book,  used  at  Halle,  in  Germany : 

"  Alone,  yet  not  alone  am  I, 
Though  in  this  solitude  so  drear." 

They  constantly  hoped  that  the  Lord  Jesus 
would  sometime  bring  them  back  to  their  Chris- 
tian friends.  In  the  year  1764,  this  hope  was 
realized.  The  English  Colonel  Bouquet  came 
to  the  place  where  they  were,  conquered  the 
Indians,  and  made  them  restore  all  their  pris- 
oners. More  than  four  hundred  were  brought 
to  him,  and  among  others,  these  two  little  girls. 
The  Colonel  and  his  soldiers  gave  them  food  and 
clothes,  and  brought  them  all  to  the  town  of  Car- 


AN   AFFECTING   SCENE.  123 

lisle,  in  Pennsylvania,  and  published  a  request  in 
the  newspapers  that  all  parents,  who  had  lost 
their  children,  would  come  to  this  place,  and  see 
if  they  could  find  them  among  the  captives. 
Regina's  mother  came,  but  her  child  had  become 
a  stranger  to  her.  Regina  had  the  language  and 
manners  of  the  Indians,  and  neither  mother  nor 
daughter  knew  each  other.  The  poor  mother 
went  up  and  down  among  the  young  captives,  but 
could  find  nothing  of  her  daughters.  She  wept 
in  bitter  grief  and  disappointment.  Colonel 
Bouquet  asked  her  if  she  recollected  nothing  by 
which  her  children  might  be  discovered.  She 
said  she  recollected  nothing  but  the  following 
hymn,  which  she  used  to  sing  with  them : 

"  Alone,  yet  not  alone  am  I, 

Though  in  this  solitude  so  drear ; 

I  feel  my  Saviour  always  nigh, 
He  comes,  the  \f  eary  homes  to  cheer. 

I  am  with  him  and  he  with  me, 

Even  here  alone  I  cannot  be." 

He  requested  her  to  sing  the  hymn  ;  but  she 
had  scarcely  sung  two  lines  of  it,  when  Regina 
rushed  from  the  crowd,  began  to  sing  too,  and 
flew  into  her  mother's  arms.  They  both  wept 
for  joy.  But  the  other  sister  was  not  found,  and 
no  one  came  for  the  other  little  girl,  Regina's 
companion,  who  clung  to  her  and  would  not  let 
her  go.     Regina's  mother,  though  poor,  took  them 


124  THE  BIBLS. 

both  home  with  her.  Regina  repeatedly  asked 
her  mother  for  "  the  Book  in  which  God  speaks 
to  us ;"  for  she  remembered  that,  when  her  father 
took  down  the  Bible  to  read  to  them  he  always 
said,  ^  Now,  my  children,  be  still,  and  Usten  to 
what  I  am  going  to  read;  for  it  is  God  who 
speaks  to  us  in  this  book."  But  her  mother  had 
no  Bible.  She  lost  every  thing  when  the  Indians 
burnt  their  house.  She  determined  to  go  to 
Philadelphia  and  buy  one ;  but  the  pastor  of  the 
church,  learning  her  situation  gave  her  a  Bible. 
Regina  had  not  forgotten  what  her  father  had 
taught  her ;  for  she  was  able  to  read  the  Bible, 
as  soon  as  she  received  it. 

Thus  the  hymns  and  Scriptures  which  this 
young  woman  had  learned  when  she  was  a  little 
girl,  besides  being  a  great  comfort  to  her  in  her 
long  captivity,  were  the  means  of  restoring  her 
to  her  mother. 


125 


CHAPTER  Xn. 

BELIGION. 

Section  I.  —  Doing  Good. 

The  Swearer  reproved. 

OUNG  persons  may  do  gocd. 

A  girl  about  twelve  years  of 

age,  -  the  daughter  of  a  sailor 

in  Southwark,  England,  being 

sick,  her  father  determined  to 

take  her  with  him  on  a  little 

voyage  to  Dunkirk.     Before 

she   started,   she    asked   her 

Sabbath  School  teacher  to  give  her 

some  tracts  to  take  with  her,  as  she 

hoped  they  might  be  useful.     On 

the  way,  the  vessel  was  becalmed, 

which  irritated  the  sailors,  and  made 

them  utter  a  great  many  profane  oaths. 

The  girl  was  shocked  to  hear  such 

language  ;  and  though  she  was  lying  in 

her  birth,  very  ill,  she  mustered  courage  enough 

to  crawl  to  her  box,  where  she  found  the  tract 

entitled  "  The  Swearer's  Prayer,"  which  she  gave 

11* 


126  THE    YOUNG    CAN   DO    GOOD. 

to  the  young  man  who  had  been  the  worst,  and  ask- 
ed him  if  he  would  not  like  to  read  it.  He  said  he 
should  be  glad  to  read  any  thing  to  pass  away  the 
time.  He  began  and  read  it  aloud  to  the  rest  of 
the  men,  who  seemed  very  attentive.  Some  time 
after,  one  of  them  swore  again.  Upon  which,  the 
young  man  said  to  him,  "  How  can  you  swear, 
after  hearing  what  has  just  been  read !  I  have 
determined  never  to  swear  again  as  long  as  I 
live."  "  So  have  I,"  said  another.  And  the 
whole  company  made  a  solemn  vow  that  they 
would  not  swear  any  more ;  and  no  more  pro- 
faneness  was  heard,  during  the  voyage.  Thus, 
my  readers  wiU  see  how  easy  it  is,  even  for  young 
persons  to  do  good,  if  they  are  always  intent 
upon  it.  It  would  be  well  for  them  always  to 
carry  about  them  some  copies  of  the  "  Swearer's 
Prayer,"  whenever  they  are  going  where  they 
may  possibly  be  exposed  to  hear  profane  lan- 
guage, and  make  a  similar  use  of  it.  It  may 
please  God  to  employ  them  in  promoting  the 
honor  of  his  great  name. 

The  Pearl  of  great  price. 

A  native  of  one  of  the  Islands  in  the  Indian 
Ocean,  was  married  to  a  Scotch  merchant,  who 
returned  with  her  to  his  own  cointry.     She  had 


THE  PEARL  OF  GREAT  PRICE.  127 

been  brought  up  a  heathen ;  but  in  Scotland,  she 
lived  without  any  religion  at  all.  She  had  a 
great  many  jewels ;  and  she  spent  her  time  in 
adorning  herself  with  them,  and  playing  with  her 
children.  •  One  day  she  heard  a  loud  rumbling 
noise,  in  the  street  where  she  lived,  in  the  city  of 
Aberdeen ;  and  on  looking  out,  she  saw  it  pro- 
ceeded from  some  carts  filled  with  blocks  of 
granite,  which  were  passing  in  the  street.  Turn- 
ing to  an  old  Scotch  nurse,  then  in  the  room,  she 
said,  "  What  a  poor  country  Scotland  is !  Its 
lulls  produce  nothing  but  great  blocks  of  stone. 
In  my  country,  they  obtain  from  the  hills  gold, 
jewels,  and  precious  stones."  "  But,"  replied  the 
pious  old  woman,  "  we  have  one  treasure  here  in 
Scotland,  which  your  country  does  not  possess  — 
the  pearl  of  great  price."  "  0,"  said  the  Indian 
lady,  "  I  must  have  that  treasure  cost  what  it 
will.  I  am  sure  my  husband  will  buy  it  for  me. 
I  will  part  with  all  my  other  jewels,  if  I  can  get 
this."  "  Ah !"  replied  the  old  woman,  "  this  trea- 
sure is  not  to  be  bought.  It  is  to  be  had  freely, 
without  money  and  without  price.  It  is  not  an 
ornament  for  the  neck  or  for  the  ears,  but  a  bless- 
ing for  the  heart."  "  O,  that  is  just  what  I' 
want,"  rejoined  the  lady.  "I  am  often  very 
unhappy,  when  I  think  of  my  relations,  whom  I 
shall  never  see,  and  of  my  much  loved  native 


128  EFFECT    OF    GOOD    WORDS. 

land.  I  often  have  an  aching  heart  in  spite  of 
my  children,  my  jewels,  and  all  my  other  com- 
forts." The  woman  told  her  the  treasure  was 
liid  in  the  field  of  the  Holy  Scriptures,  and  was 
to  be  found  by  diligent  seeking.  The  lady  im- 
mediately undertook  to  learn  to  read,  which  she 
accomplished  in  a  little  time;  and  by  diligently 
searching  the  Scriptures,  she  found  the  "  Pearl 
of  Great  Price,"  became  a  member  of  the  Chris- 
tian church,  lived  a  happy  life,  and  died  a  peace- 
ful death. 

How  many  of  my  readers,  who  have  had  the 
Holy  Scriptures  in  their  hands,  and  have  been 
able  to  read  them  ever  since  they  were  old  enough, 
have  sought  and  found  the  "  Pearl  of  Great 
Price?" 

From  the  foregoing  story,  we  learn  how  much 
good  one  may  do,  by  watching  opportunities,  even 
in  the  humblest  station.  Solomon  says,  "  A  word 
spoken  in  due  season,  how  good  it  is  ! "  This  old 
Scotch  nurse,  was  wise  to  win  souls.  She  knew 
how  to  speak  a  good  word  at  the  right  time,  and 
God  blessed  it.  The  following  anecdote  illus- 
trates the  same  truth,  in  a  different  station  of 
life. 


A  WOED   PITLT   SPOKEN.  129 


Lady  Huntingdon  and  the  Gardner. 

Lady  Huntingdon,  having  employed  a  man  to 
Work  in.  her  garden,  took  an  opportunity  to  urge 
him  to  take  some  serious  thought  about  his  souL 
Some  years  afterwards,  she  employed  another 
man  for  the  same  purpose,  and  began  to  talk  to 
him  in  the  same  way,  expressing  her  fears  that  he 
never  prayed  nor  looked  to  Christ  fo#  pardon. 
*•  Your  ladyship  is  mistaken,"  said  he.  "  I  heard 
what  passed  between  you  and  James,  at  such  a 
time,  and  the  word  designed  for  him  took  effect 
on  me."  "  How  did  you  hear  it  ?"  she  inquired. 
"  I  heard  it,"  he  replied,  "on  the  other  side  of  the 
garden,  through  a  hole  in  the  wall,  and  shall 
never  forget  the  impression  I  received."  Do 
any  of  my  readers  ask,  "What  good  can  /do?" 
You  perceive  what  power  there  is  often  in  a 
"  word  in  due  season,"  "  fitly  spoken."  You 
know  not  what  good  you  may  do,  by  watching 
opportimities  to  speak  good  words. 


130 


Section  n.  —  Faith. 
A  little  Girl  and  her  Father. 

LITTLE  girl  was  trying  to 
find  her  father,  who  had  gone 
into  the  cellar,  by  a  trap  door, 
with  no  light  Coming  to  the 
door,  and  looking  down,  she 
could  see  nothing,  for  it  was 
all  dark.  She  called  out, 
"Are  you  down  cellar,  father  ?" 
"  Yes  ;"  he  answered.  "  "Would  you 
like  to  come,  Mary  ?  "  "  It  is  dark. 
I  caji't  come,  papa,"  "  Well,  my 
daughter,  I  am  right  below  you,  and 
I  can  see  you,  though  you  cannot  see 
me.  J£  you  will  drop  yourself  down,  I 
wiU  catch  you."  "  Oh !  I  shall  fall,  I 
can't  see  you,  papa»"  "  I  know  it,"  he 
replied,  "  but  I  am  truly  here,  and  you  shall  not 
fall  or  hurt  yourself.  I  will  catch  you."  She 
strained  her  eyes,  but  could  not  see  him.  She 
hesitated,  then  advanced  a  little,  and  finally  threw 
herself  down  and  was  caught  in  his  arms.  This 
was  faith  —  faith  in   her  father.     Though  you 


FAITH.  181 

cannot  see  Jesus,  he  is  as  truly  present  as  this 
little  girl's  father  was  ;  and  he  says,  "  suffer  little 
children  to  come  unto  me,  and  forbid  them  not." 
Now,  can  you  not  believe  him,  and  in  your  mind, 
cast  yourself  into  his  arms?  You  need  not  be 
afraid.     Only  trust  in  him. 

A  little  girVs  application  of  Scripture. 

An  active  little  girl,  ten  years  of  age,  had  for* 
some  weeks  been  nursing,  with  affectionate  care- 
fulness, a  sick  sister,  who  was  expected  to  die ; 
her  mother  and  another  sister  also  being  sick. 
She  began  to  feel  quite  worn  out.  One  morning, 
she  went  for  some  medicine  with  a  heavy  heart," 
crying  very  much.  But  on  the  way  she  heard 
some  one  speak  of  two  criminals,  who  were  about 
to  be  executed.  She  immediately  began  to  think 
of  the  contrast  between  her  feelings  for  her  poor 
sick  sister,  and  the  feelings  of  the  friends  of 
these  unhappy  wretches.  Her  sister,  she  hoped, 
was  prepared  to  meet  death ;  and  if  she  died,  it 
must  be  God's  will,  and  for  good  reasons.  She 
saw  that  her  feelings  had  been  wrong.  She 
determined,  therefore,  to  do  all  she  could  for  the 
comfort  of  her  sister  Lizzy,  and  leave  the  event 
with  Grod.  While  she  was  returning  across  the 
fields  home,  she  began  to  think  of  what  she  had 


1S2 


FAITH. 


learned  in  the  Bible.  The  75th  verse  of  the 
119th  Psalm  came  to  her  mind:  "I  know,  O 
Lord,  that  thy  judgments  are  right,  and  that  thou 
in  faithfulness  hast  afflicted  me."  She  felt  so 
cheered  by  this  text,  that  her  mother  was  quite 
surprised  at  her  briskness  and  change  of  spirits 
on  her  return  ;  and  on  asking  her  the  cause,  the 
little  girl  told  her  '\^hat  had  passed  in  her  mind. 
She  continued  active  day  and  night,  in  waiting 
«on  her  sister,  and  had  the  happiness,  at  length  of 
seeing  her  recover.  At  the  same  time,  she  often 
comforted  her  mother  with  passages  which  she 
repeated  from  the  Scriptures,  suited  to  her  case. 
This  little  girl  h^aA  faith.     She  trusted  in  Grod. 


133 


Section  m. —  Cherish  Seriotts  Impressions. 


MEETINGS  were  held  by  a 
pastor  in  different  parts  of  his 
parish,  at  which  he  was  in  the 
habit  of  speaking  directly  to 
every  one  who  attended,  about 
their  souls'  concerns.  At  one 
of  these  meetings,  several  young 
ladies,  in  order  to  avoid  being 
conversed  with,  rose  and  left  the 
house.  After  that,  there  were  eight 
revivals  in  the  place,  some  of  them 
very  extensive  and  powerful;  but 
these  young  women  passed  through 
them  unaffected.  And  they  all  died  as 
they  lived,  unawakened  and  careless. 
A  young  lady  had  been  for  some  time 
serious,  ai^d  seemed  to  be  "  not  far  from  the  king- 
dom of  heaven."  At  this  time,  some  of  her  gay 
companions  called  on  her  to  accompany  them  to 
a  ball.  At  first  she  refused  to  go.  Every  thing 
in  the  house  of  mirth  was  contrary  to  her  present 
feelings.  But  they  urged  her,  ridiculed  her 
"  Methodism,"  railed  at  ministers  and  Christians, 
and  so  wrought  upon  her,  that  she  exclaimed, 
**  WeUf  I  win  go,  if  lam  damned  for  it" 
12 


134  STIFLING    SEEIOUSNESS. 

She  went ;  but  the  blessed  Spirit  itomediately 
withdrew  his  influences.  She  seemed  to  be  sen- 
sible of  it ;  for  she  no  longer  felt  sorrow  for  sin, 
"but  a  certain  fearful  looking  for  of  judgment 
and  fiery  indignation."  She  fell  into  the  horrors 
of  despair,  and  pined  away  and  died.  The  min- 
ister was  sent  for,  but  she  would  not  consent  that 
he  should  pray  with  her.  He  tried  to  direct  her 
to  the  blood  of  Christ,  but  no  ray  of  comfort 
entered  her  mind,  and  she  went  out  of  the  world 
with  despair  depicted  in  her  ghastly  countenance. 
This  comes  from  stifling  serious  impressions. 

The  Choice  — A  Contrast. 

On  a  pleasant  evening,  two  young  ladies  were 
walking  together,  in  a  certain  town  in  New-Eng- 
land. One  said  to  the  other,  "  I  understand  there 
is  some  prospect  of  a  Revival  of  Religion  in  this 
town ;  and  if  there  is,  I  hope  I  shall  be  a  subject 
of  it."  The  other  replied,  "Well,  I  hope  I  shall 
not,  for  I  have  not  enjoyed  enough  of  the  world 
to  attend  to  religion  yet."  This  discovered  their 
different  states  of  mind.  The  first  one  showed  a 
sense  of  her  need,  and  a  willingness  to  give  up 
all  for  Christ ;  but  she  was  wrong  in  supposing 
that  she  must  wait  for  a  Revival  before  she  could 
be  converted  to  God ;  for  Christ  is  ever  ready  to 


A    CONTRAST.  135 

receive  all  who  come  to  him.  But  the  other 
showed  that  she  preferred  the  pleasures  of  this 
world,  to  the  favor  and  service  of  God.  In  her 
heart  she  said  unto  God,  "  Depart  from  me,  for  I 
desire  not  the  knowledge  of  thy  ways." 

The  one  first  mentioned  attended  the  prayer- 
meetings,  became  deeply  concerned  for  her  soul, 
and  after  two  or  three  weeks,  she  found  peace  in 
believing  in  Jesus.  About  the  same  time,  the 
other  young  lady  awoke  in  the  night  and  called 
her  mother,  saying  she  was  very  unwell.  Her 
brother  ran  across  the  street  for  a  physician ;  but 
when  he  came  she  was  a  corpse !  This  shows 
the  folly  and  the  danger  of  putting  off  attention 
to  religion,  and  preferring  present  pleasure  to 
everlasting  bliss. 


19$ 


Section  IV.  —  Conscience. 


ONSCIENCE  i8  the  faculty 
which  distinguishes  between 
right  and  wrong,  and  approves 
or  condemns  us,  according  as 
we  do  one  or  the  other.  It  is 
a  generous  friend,  but  a  terri- 
ble enemy ;  and,  if  we  would 
keep  its  friendship,  we  must 
be  careful  to  do  nothing  to  offend 
it.  The  following  story  not  only 
illustrates  the  power  of  conscience 
to  accuse  and  condemn,  but  like- 
wise shows  the  importance  of  being 
strictly  honest  in  little  things.  Girls, 
who  rob  their  mothers'  closets  of  cakes 
and  sweetmeats,  and  boarding-school 
misses,  who  peculate  upon  the  larder  or  the 
baker's  basket,  may  see  to  what  they  are  expos- 
ing themselves.  These  are  dangerous  practices. 
When  habitually  indulged,  they  blunt  the  con- 
science in  regard  to  the  rights  of  others,  and 
sometimes  produce  the  confirmed  habit  of  thiev- 
ing.    This  woman  suffered  more  than  tongue  can 


CONSCIENCE.  137 

tell,  from  having  indulged  this  thievish  habit  at 
boarding  school. 

In  the  year  1835,  a  lady  about  thirty-eight 
years  of  age,  elegantly  dressed,  entered  the  shop 
of  a  pastry-cook  in  the  neighborhood  of  London, 
in  great  mental  excitement,  and  inquired  if  Mr. 

• was  still  alive,  as  she  wished  to  see  him. 

The  man  was  engaged,  and  sent  his  daughter, 
to  whom  she  stated,  that  more  than  twenty  years 
before,  she  was  at  a  boarding  school,  which  Mr. 

supplied  with  pastry  ;  and  that  while  there, 

she  was  in  the  habit  of  taking  little  articles  from 
his  tray,  unknown  to  the  person  who  brought  it. 
She  had  now  been  married  some  years,  and  was 
the  mother  of  six  children,  having  every*  comfort 
which  this  world  could  afford ;  but  the  remem- 
brance of  these  petty  thefts  so  haunted  her 
conscience  that  she  was  never  happy.  Her  hus- 
band, perceiving  that  she  was  unhappy,  inquired 
the  cause  ;  and  finding  it  continued  to  prey  upon 
her  spirits,  he  advised  her  to  see  if  the  pastry 
cook  was  alive,  and  to  make  him  or  his  family  a 
recompense  ;  and  as  she  was  about  to  leave  Lon- 
don that  day,  she  had  come  for  that  purpose. 
After  begging  his  forgiveness,  she  insisted  on  hia 
accepting  a  sum  of  money,  which  she  believed  to 
be  about  the  value  of  the  articles  stolen. 


12« 


138 


Sectiok  V. —  Pbateb. 

PRAYING    IN    SECRET. 

ITTLE  Mary  W.  was  asked, 
"  Which  do  you  love  best,  to 
pray  in  the  family  or  in  se- 
cret ? "  Her  reply  was,  "  I 
love  to  pray  with  others  ;  but 
I  can  say  to  God  when  I  am 
alone,  what  I  cannot  say  when 
I  am  with  others." 
A  little  girl  in  the  country  was 
frequently  sent  to  a  spring,  some 
distance  from  the  house,  for  water. 
Her  father  noticed  that  she  some- 
times stayed  longer  than  was  necessary, 
S  and  one  day  followed  her  without  being 
noticed.  When  she  got  to  the  spring, 
she  set  down  her  pitcher  and  kneeled 
down  to  pray.  When  she  arose,  he  came  forward 
and  said,  "  Well,  my  dear,  was  the  water  sweet  ?  " 
, "  Yes,  father,"  she  replied,  "  and  if  you  were  but 
to  taste  one  drop  of  the  water  I  have  been  tast- 
ing, you  would  never  drink  the  water  of  thia 
world  any  more." 


PBATER.  189 


Pray  withottt  ceasing. 

At  a  ministers'  meeting,  the  question  was  pro- 
posed, "  How  can  the  command  ^pray  vnthout 
ceasing '  be  complied  with  ?"  After  some  discus- 
sion, one  was  appointed,  to  write  upon  it  for  the 
next  monthly  meeting.  A  female  servant,  over- 
hearing the  conversation,,  exclaimed,  "  What !  a 
■whole  month  wanted  to  explain  the  meaning  of 
that  text !  It  is  one  of  the  easiest  and  best  texts 
in  the  Bible."  "  Well,  well,"  said  an  aged  min- 
ister, "  Mary,  what  can  you  say  about  it  ?  Let 
us  know  how  you  understand  it.  Can  you  pray 
all  the  time  ? "  "  O  yes,  sir,"  she  answered. 
"  What,  when  you  have  so  many  things  to  do  ?  " 
"  T\Tiy,  sir,  the  more  I  have  to  do,  the  more  I  can 
pray."  "Indeed;  well,  Mary,  do  let  us  know 
hrw  it  ia;  for  most  people  think  otherwise." 
•  Well,  sir,"  said  the  girl,  "  When  I  first  open  my 
iyes  in  the  morning,  I  pray, '  Lord,  open  the  eyes 
of  my  understanding ; '  and  while  I  am  dressing, 
I  pray  that  I  may  be  clothed  with  the  robe  of 
righteousness ;  and  when  I  have  washed  myself, 
I  ask  for  the  washing  of  regeneration ;  and  as  I 
begin  to  work,  I  pray  that  I  may  have  strength 
equal  to  my  day.  When  I  begin  to  kindle  the 
fire,  I  pray  that  Grod's  work  may  revive  in  my 


140  PRAY   WITHOUT    CEASING. 

soul ;  and  as  I  sweep  the  house,  I  pray  that  my 
heart  may  be  cleansed  from  all  its  impurities. 
"VVTiUe  preparing  and  partaking  of  breakfast,  I 
desire  to  be  fed  with  the  hidden  manna,  and  the 
sincere  milk  of  the  word ;  and  as  I  am  busy  with 
the  little  children,  I  look  up  to  God  as  my  Father, 
and  pray  for  the  Spirit  of  adoption,  that  I  may. 
be  his  child.  And  so  on,  all  day,  every  thing  I 
do  furnishes  me  with  a  thought  for  prayer." 
"  Enough,  enough,"  cried  the  aged  ministti* ; 
"  these  things  are  revealed  to  babes,  though  often 
hid  from  the  wise  and  prudent.  Go  on  Mary, 
pray  without  ceasing  ;  and  as  for  us  my' brethren, 
let  us  thank  God  for  this  exposition,  and  remem- 
ber that  He  has  said,  '  The  meek  will  he  guide  in 
judgment.' "  It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  these 
ministers  were  ignorant  of  the  meaning  of  this 
text ;  but  it  must  have  been  gratifying  to  them  to 
see  how  Christian  experience  will  exemplify  it, 
so  as  to  render  any  explanation  unnecessary  K 
our  readers  will  follow  the  etample  of  this 
servant-girl,  they  will  learn  how  to  "be  in  tlit 
fear  of  God  all  the  day  long." 


141 


Section  VI.  —  Death-bed  Scenes. 


THE    UNPREPARED. 


I  ARIA  was  an  amiable  youth, 
in  blooming  health.  She  at- 
tended to  the  concerns  of  this 
life,  was  modest  and  gentle, 
and  correct  in  her  outward  de- 
portment. She  attended  pub- 
lic worship  regularly,  and  list- 
ened attentively  to-*  the  word 
God ;  but  she  put  off  attending 
the  things  which  she  heard,  think- 
ing, because  she  was  young,  and  iu 
vigorous  health,  there  was  time 
enough  yet.  She  forgot  that  Gk)d 
claims  the  heart  in  life,  and  not  merely 
in  death.  One  evening,  she  was  cheer- 
•  •  ful  and  happy  as  usual,  promising  her- 
self months  and  years  of  worldly  enjoyment. 
But  in  an  hour  she  was  taken  to  her  bed,  from 
which  she  was  carried  to  the  grave.  Disease  had 
taken  hold  of  her  vigorous  frame  with  relentless 
grasp.  The  physician  was  called,  and  all  the 
tender  offices  of  anxious  friends  were  afforded. 


142  THE  UNPBEPARED. 

One  fainting  fit  followed  another,  in  rapid  succes- 
sion ;  daring  the  intervals  of  which,  she  would 
exclaim,  "  0  for  life!  for  life!  life!  life!  for  a 
Utile  life  to  prepare  to  die  ! "  In  this  situation, 
she  lingered  a  few  days,  and  died.  Reader, 
while  you  have  life,  devote  it  to  God,  and  then 
you  will  want  no  time  to  prepare  to  die. 

Peace  in  Death. 

Ruth  Maria  Robbins  died  in  Quincy,  Illinois, 
Aug.  22,  1830,  aged  ten  years.  Her  mother  was 
a  pious  woman,  who  trained  up  her  children  in 
the  "  nurture  and  admonition  of  the  Lord."  Maria 
was  the  subject  of  many  prayers,  and  received 
much  good  instruction  when  she  was  very  young. 
At  the  age  of  three  years  she  was  sent  to  the 
Sabbath  School.  She  very  soon  became  much 
attached  to  the  teachers,  was  punctual  at  school, 
and  never  failed  to  have  her  lesson  well  learned. 
About  a  year  before  she  died,  her  parents  remov- 
ed to  Quincy.  At  that  time,  there  was  no  Church 
and  no  Sabbath  School  in  Quincy,  for  it  was  a 
new  place.  Maria  felt  these  privations  and  often 
spoke  with  regret  of  the  change  in  her  situation. 

Maria's  last  sickness  was  very  distressing,  but 
she  bore  it  with  much  patience  and  resignation ; 
for,  while  in  health,  she  had  put  her  trust  in 


PEACE    IN   DEATH.  143 

Christ,  and  was  prepared  to  endure  whatever  her 
heavenly  Father  saw  fit  to  send  upon  her.  Her 
physician  said  he  had  never  before  seen  so  much 
fortitude  and  patience  in  one  so  young.  When 
asked  if  she  did  not  wish  to  recover,  she  replied, 
"  If  I  should,  I  must  die  some  time.  I  trust  I 
am  now  prepared  to  go.  Then  why  should  I 
wish  to  live  any  longer  ?  I  desire  to  go  to  God, 
in  whose  presence  there  is  fulness  of  joy,  and  at 
whose  right  hand  there  are  pleasures  forever - 
more.  There  I  shall  be  free  from  sin  and  paii.^ 
and  dwell  for  ever  with  my  Saviour."  She  thev 
said  to  her  mother  and  little  sisters,  "  I  have  pm 
my  whole  trust  in  Christ,  and  now  he  supports 
me.  You  must  all  do  likewise,  and  in  the  trying 
hour,  he  will  also  be  your  supporter."  A  few 
days  before  her  death,  she  was  told  that  a  Church 
was  about  to  be  formed  in  Quincy.  She  said,  "  I 
should  be  happy  to  join  it,"  and  then  inquired, 
"  Are  there  not  some  in  all  the  Churches  who  are 
hypocrites."  Her  mother  replied,  "  No,  in  the 
Church  of  the  first-bom,  the  society  of  heaven, 
they  are  all  holy,  harmless,  undefiled."  "  True," 
said  she,  "  and  I  shall  soon  be  a  member  of  that 
society."  Then  with  rapture  she  exclaimed, 
"  Farewell,  world,  I  am  going  home."  In  this 
frame  of  mind,  she  "  fell  asleep." 

This  little  girl  did  not  begin  to  be  religious 


144  CONCLUSIOK. 

after  she  was  taken  sick ;  but  in  her  health,  she 
put  her  trust  in  the'Saviour,  and  took  the  Lord 
for  her  portion ;  and  the  Lord  fulfilled  toward  her 
these  precious  promises  of  his  holy  word :  "  Thou 
wilt  keep  him  in  perfect  peace,  whose  mind  is 
stayed  on  thee."  "  When  thou  passest  through 
the  waters,  I  will  be  with  thee  ;  and  through  the 
rivers,  they  shall  not  overflow  thee." 

It  is  my  desire,  in  taking  leave  of  my  readers, 
that  they  also  may  put  their  trust  in  the  blessed 
Saviour,  and  thus  be  prepared,  like  Maria,  to 
meet  trials  with  patience  and  resignation,  and  to 
face  death  with  calmness  and  composure,  in  pros- 
pect of  a  glorious  immortality.  I  desire,  also,  to 
meet  them  in  that  blest  abode ;  and  then  it  will 
increase  my  joy  to  know  that  my  book  has  been 
a  benefit  to  their  souls. 

Sweet  peace  smile  on  thee,  gentle  reader; 
faith  point  thee  to  that  world  of  light ;  bright 
hope  cheer  thee  on  thy  way ;  and  the  glorious 
"  Ark  of  Safety "  bear  thee  over  the  "  deep 
waters,"  to  the  haven  of  eternal  rest.    Adieu ! 


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